


Earthbound

by Shazz92



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Crobby - Freeform, Cured Crowley, Eventual Smut, Human Crowley, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-27
Updated: 2017-06-03
Packaged: 2018-05-18 13:01:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 43,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5929354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shazz92/pseuds/Shazz92
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crowley is successfully cured and left to fend for himself. Bobby escapes Heaven and is on a mission.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fan-fic ever!  
> There may be some swapping between American and Australian language. I apologise for any confusion in advance.  
> I'm not sure how often I will get to update this, but I am determined to complete it.

Crowley had been dumped, unconscious, in a ditch at the side of a road on the outskirts of some small town far, far from the Winchester’s Bunker. It was dusk when the newly re-souled man stirred.

The first thing Crowley was aware of when he woke up was the cold. He hadn’t truly felt the cold as a human does since the day he died… but then… No. He couldn’t be. He was just… weakened. Yes, that was it. He’d recover from Moose’s ridiculous “cure” attempt and his powers would return in full. Until then, better find some shelter; preferably somewhere with a shower as Crowley realised he was covered in blood and grime.

Pushing himself to his feet and glanced around. On a tree a few metres from where he’d been laying was a note, pinned by what looked like a silver dagger. After putting the knife in his belt, hidden underneath his jacket, Crowley read the scrap of paper.

 

_Asshat_

_Sam’s dead because of you. I would’ve happily shot you in the head, but Sammy wanted you to have a ‘second chance’. So here it is. There’s $50 in your jacket and the knife is silver and iron. I’d better not see your face again._

Well, shit.

It was unsigned, but clearly written by a pissed off Dean Winchester. So Sam was dead. Crowley didn’t know how to feel about that; on one hand, Sam had dragged Crowley back into humanity against his will… but he was Sam. Sam, the giant, floppy-haired Moose, who gave his life to stop demons (including Crowley) from destroying anymore families. He’d given Crowley a second chance. A chance to… what? Get into heaven? Was that a possibility? Crowley’s eyes began to water and he promptly bent over and threw up. Mostly bile. He’d have to eat now, too. Marvellous.

Putting the note inside his pants pocket (it didn’t feel right, just leaving it), Crowley headed towards the town in the distance.

 

* * * * *

 

The fifty dollars didn’t last long. It went mostly on food from the local supermarket and clean clothes from a used goods store. It took a great amount of will for Crowley to walk past the liquor store; he’d promised himself to not head down that road. After all, he had to live. He couldn’t let Sam’s death be in vain. Crowley was determined to rise again, this time as a decent human being (whether he’d succeed or not was another thing). But 300 years of demonhood had taken its toll on his state of mind; he found himself slave to two strong emotions – anger and grief. Anger, he could deal with. Anger was one of the few emotions left to a demon. The grief, however, that was proving difficult.

 _What’s the point?_ The voice in Crowley’s head was his own, that is to say Fergus’, before the hellhounds had dragged him to Hell. _Seriously, look at you. You shouldn’t be here. You don’t **deserve** a second chance. Why don’t you just use that knife on yourself? _

He found keeping busy helped keep the voice at bay. But the nights were horrible. It was then that the voices of everyone he had killed or tortured whispered to him.

 _You think you can just atone for all the shit you’ve done?_ Crowley didn’t know her name. But he knew that voice and he could almost see the face of the first person who had sold her soul to him.

 _Hell is all you deserve._ Kevin Tran. _But then, you didn’t exactly fit in there, either._ Meg.

After several restless nights, Crowley spent the last of Dean’s money on some sleeping tablets, hoping they’d allow for a quieter, dreamless sleep. They worked.

Crowley had no ID and no money. In order to feed himself, he had offered himself as a labourer to various neighbourhood citizens. It wouldn’t do any good to apply for a proper job with no ID, so it had to do for now. The money wasn’t good enough for rent, but it kept food in his belly, and that was good.

Shelter wasn’t as much of a problem as Crowley thought it would be. He was too proud to go to a homeless shelter (he wasn’t even sure if there was one in this town), but he found adequate housing in an abandoned corner shop across the road from a rarely visited children’s playground and park. The old shelving hadn’t been removed and Crowley made good use of them as makeshift cupboards, not that Crowley had many possessions left.

Naturally, Crowley kept mostly to himself. There would still be a few demons stuck topside after the Gates were shut, and they would surely not take kindly to finding a de-powered Crowley. Of course, those demons that are left would also likely be in hiding – any who weren’t would soon be exorcised by hunters.

Other supernatural beasts were still rampant, but Crowley wasn’t stupid. He’d had his fair share of monster experience and was confident in his ability to recognise if any danger appeared in his neighbourhood. Already, he was aware of a small family of shape-shifters in the area; they were harmless, although the teenaged boy was bound to get into strife if he kept up impersonating his Science teacher’s husband. That was none of Crowley’s business however, so he kept away.

He kept up-to-date on the news using the library’s computers. There was a major increase in the number of ghosts worldwide and in the number of missing persons. _Might need to stock up on salt,_ Crowley thought, _just in case_.

 

* * * * *

 

Six months after he had re-discovered his humanity, Crowley was offered a job at the local Walmart. Apparently, one of the families Crowley had done frequent yard work for were good friends with a high-ranking manager of the store and had recommended him for an open position. He’d accepted, with a little internal grumbling about menial tasks being done by an ex-monarch. But work was work and maybe he would be able to afford a small flat soon.

Crowley’s jobs were numerous but mundane; keep the shelves stocked, collect wayward trolleys, help customers find things and general cleaning. Customers tended to avoid him, perhaps because of the aggression he always showed in his work. Andrew, one of the few co-workers Crowley didn’t consider a complete moron, was helping re-stock when he noticed this habit.

“What’d those cans ever do to you?” he’d asked.

“What?” Crowley was barely listening, trying to focus on the task at hand.

Andrew chuckled, “If you keep slamming those cans like that, you’ll end up breaking the shelf.”

“Hmph.” His movements became slightly gentler.

It was a warm day but the breeze was quite pleasant, so Crowley decided to wander through the park on the way home. He sat down on a park bench and listened to the birds chirping as dusk settled around him. Before he knew it, he was dozing off.


	2. Chapter 2

A bright blue light woke him up. At first, Crowley thought it was a streetlight turning on, but then it appeared again. The glow could be seen through the leaves of a large bush opposite Crowley’s seat.

 _That’s where the playground is,_ he thought. Then he heard a grunt, followed by several indistinct voices. _Bollocks._

Options ran through Crowley’s head. The new arrivals were between him and his shop/house. They would have a clear view of him unless he either stayed where he was or returned back towards his work. It would still be about an hour before it got dark enough to be helpful in an escape.

Curiosity got the better of him. Crowley needed to know who, or what, these people were. He moved silently towards the bush and peeked through the branches.

The glow was coming from the sandpit; tendrils of light floated through the air just above the surface, illuminating two of the three figures in front of it. One was tall, his short dark hair parted neatly on one side, his suit looked new and clean. The pointed features of his face were arranged into an annoyed expression as he stared at the other two. The second person was a girl. She looked young, Crowley would guess early or mid-twenties. Long blonde hair whipped around as she took in her surroundings. She was wearing plaid and had a canvas bag slung over her shoulder, face set with determination. She knelt beside the last figure, laying a hand on its back and whispered something. It grunted. The same grunt Crowley had heard earlier. Why did it sound so familiar?

The third person was crouched under a nearby tree. Crowley strained his eyes trying to make out something, anything he could use. That’s when the girl spoke.

“You’ll be alright in a minute or so,” she said, “We won’t think any less of you if you need to throw up, or something.” The tall man scoffed at that comment, earning himself a glare from the girl. And boy, could that girl glare! Crowley almost snickered. She turned back to the other.

“Don’t listen to him. He’s just mad he had to come.” She opened her bag up and pulled out a bottle of water. “Have a drink, Bobby, it’ll help.”

**_BOBBY?!_ **

Crowley definitely did not manage keep quiet _that_ time. His gasp of shock was heard by all present and he immediately found himself with an angel blade at his throat. _Bollocks._

“What have we here then?” the tall man pulled Crowley to his feet.

“Who is it?!” shouted the girl from behind the bush. The tall man, who Crowley now assumed was an angel, pushed him towards the playground, blade still positioned at his neck.

The girl’s expression didn’t change when she saw him. After all, she had no idea that Crowley was part of the reason she had died. And Crowley didn’t know her, although he guessed by her attire and attitude that she was a hunter. His focus was not on her, however. It was on the dishevelled looking Bobby on the ground. He swallowed.

Bobby stared. What he was seeing didn’t make the remotest sense. Crowley. The King of Hell. Was wearing a Walmart uniform.

Something wasn’t right. Maybe…. Maybe the boys had succeeded in their plan. Had they closed the Gates of Hell.  If that was the case, maybe the man in front of Bobby was Crowley’s meatsuit without the demon inside…

“Get your bloody mitts off me, you feathery bastard!” Nope, that was Crowley.

“Crowley?” Bobby staggered to his feet.

“Hullo, Robert.” Crowley tried to appear somewhat respectable, standing as straight as he could with the angel’s rough handling. “What brings you back to land of the living, this time?”

The angel pulled Crowley closer to him and added some pressure to the blade at his throat, “You’re not in any position to ask questions, sneak.”

“Hold up, Esthiel.” Bobby said, “I know him. He may be able to help.”

When Bobby got closer to Crowley, he could see exactly how much the demon (ex-demon?) had changed since he’d last seen him. He was thinner, less perfectly groomed – although the effort was still clear – and his eyes weren’t as mocking as they had once been.

Bobby placed on hand on the angel’s shoulder and used the other to put the blade away from Crowley’s throat. “You can go now. We thank you.”

The angel scowled but released Crowley from his grip and walked purposefully back to the sand-pit. Before he stepped into the light, he turned back, saying “I wouldn’t put your trust in that man, Robert. His soul is scarred.” Then he disappeared, along with the glow.

The blonde girl stood awkwardly where Bobby had been, glancing between him and Crowley.

“’s alright, Jo. You just get on the radio and tell Ash and yer mom that we arrived safe and sound.” Bobby spoke over his shoulder, steering Crowley to another nearby bench. “I’ll just be over here. Crowley may be the best help we’ll have for a while.” Jo nodded and set to work, pulling some complicated looking machines out of her bag.

They sat on the bench, Crowley feeling very aware of his current state of dress. He licked his lips nervously, looking anywhere except at Bobby. He knew questions were going to be asked.

“Right. First things first; what the hell happened to you?” Bobby waved to Crowley’s uniform, raising his eyebrows.

Crowley slumped a little, but decided to answer honestly, “Moose cured me. The last trial to close the Gates was to cure a demon. I was the lucky demon.” At least his sarcasm hadn’t been altered by the spell, Crowley pondered.

Bobby grunted. “And how’d you end up here? Working at _Walmart_? Dean and Sam just let you go?”

Shit. Should Crowley tell him about Sam? He was bound to find out anyway.

“Sam,” he took a deep breath, “I’m sorry, Robert, the spell. It-it killed him. I’m so sorry.” As he said it, the memory of Sam screaming in pain before collapsing rushed back into his mind. He started shivering and was soon rocking back and forth on the seat, tears streaming down his face.

Bobby was frozen. He’d lost Sam before. The number of times those boys had died, it was ridiculous. But the initial pain of their loss never lessened. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. He only opened them when he heard Crowley’s snuffles.

“Christ, you really are human now, ain’t ya?” Bobby hovered a hand over Crowley’s shoulder for a few moments before awkwardly patting him. “There, there. Wasn’t yer fault, was it? I’m guessin’ you didn’t exactly volunteer to be cured, right?”

Crowley made a noise that sounded something like a laugh. “No…” he mumbled, “It’s just… I knew the third trial had something to do with demons, so I ordered them to stay away from the Winchesters. But I didn’t count on them taking _me_. If I hadn’t been so damned sure of myself, maybe Moose would still…” He trailed off, staring at the ground.

“Hey,” Bobby said, “that might’ve worked for the short term, but do you really think you could keep your demons away for long? Those boys wouldn’t just abandon the plan, and sooner or later, a demon would’ve gotten itself captured. It was bound to happen eventually.”

“Hmph, suppose so.” Crowley took a few deep breaths himself, then leaned back and looked at expectantly at Bobby. “What about you? I’ve shared my tale of woe, now it’s your turn.”

Bobby gave a quick glance over his shoulder at Jo; she was still tampering with dials on the makeshift radio. That damn thing was so fiddly. Turning back to Crowley, Bobby sighed. “Heaven’s in trouble. And I have a feeling it’s going to spill over here. If it hasn’t already. Crowley, the angels have disappeared from Heaven. We have a theory. We think they all fell.”

“All of them? How the Hell could that happen? And who are ‘we’? You came from Heaven, yeah? You came, with an angel. He didn’t look very fallen to me.”

“Hold yer horses. You’ll need to know some things about Heaven to understand our position.”

Crowley rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, clearly impatient. “Educate me, Singer.”

Ignoring the attitude, Bobby began, “Right. Well, angels can communicate with each other via angel radio. Now angel radio has two frequencies, one can only be heard by angels, or by those with machines like the one Jo is using. The other frequency is rarely used but can be heard by everyone in heaven. Now, us humans don’t often get to see our angel guardians, except if we somehow escape from our heaven and end up wandering the halls and-”

“The halls?” Crowley interrupted, “Heaven has _halls_!?”

“Uh, yeah. To be honest, heaven’s kinda set up like a giant prison. A very clean, very enormous, prison. But that’s another problem, for another time. Anyway, everything had been quiet, only messages on the private frequency were regarding meetings. And then they’re screaming. Over the public radio. Thousands of screams in our heads.” Bobby shivers and hangs is head. “Lasted about 10 minutes. Then complete silence.”

“When did this happen?” Crowley inquired.

“’bout six or seventh months ago.”

“Six or seven _months_?! And you’re only here now?”

Bobby shot an angry glance his way. “First of all, we’re all fuckin’ dead up there, ya idjit! Heaven ain’t exactly got a revolvin’ door!”

Crowley raised his hands in an effort to calm Bobby. “Alright, alright. So tell me, then. How’d you escape Alcatraz?”

Bobby huffed a bit before answering. “There’s somethin’ else before I get to that. About a week after the screams, the Heavens started… sorta melting together.  Ash fixed up some contraption to allow us hunters to travel to each other’s Heaven without goin’ through the halls. Our main base was the Roadhouse, as Ash remembered it. At first we thought it was the machine malfunctioning; you’d walk into what was meant to be the men’s restroom and end up in my study. Then people we didn’t know started walking in. It was from them that we discovered that this wasn’t an isolated problem, but Heaven-wide.”

A quick glance showed Jo had finished on the radio and was currently sorting through items in her bag. That might take same time, Bobby decided, so he continued, “And that ain’t the worst of it. Another week and people’s favourite memories were being replaced by their worst. Not everyone’s and not all the time, but sometimes you’d find yourself watching a loved one die – again and again. Some have killed themselves. Not sure what happens to their soul after that, but they ain’t seen again. _That_ is why we’re here. Seems as much a pain in the ass as the angels were, they kept Heaven working properly.”

“So Heaven has turned into Hell. So much for my redeeming myself – end up in Hell no matter what I do…” Crowley muttered, mostly to himself.

 _You haven’t changed that much_ , Bobby thought, _still conceited_.

“Anyway,” Bobby continued, pretending to have not heard Crowley’s utterance, “Ash knew of the angel’s gateways to Earth – ain’t much that kid don’t know - and created another machine to unlock one. Takes a while to charge, but once it opened, an angel came through - Esthiel. He was in quite a state. All burnt and shakin’. Once he calmed down, he told us he was torn from Heaven. He has no wings, no access to Angel Radio anymore. He wanted come back down here, lead any other angels back to the portal, but he’s currently the only angel in Heaven that we know of and therefore the only one who can at least slow down Heaven’s collapse. He recreated our bodies for Jo and myself and aided us through the portal. We have to find other angels and send them to this portal before it’s too late.”

Crowley was quiet for a while, before asking, “Might the increase of hauntings have anything to do with this?”

“Hauntings? As in ghosts? Yeah, probably.” Bobby scratched his chin. “Reapers are a class of angel, after all. So if they can’t lead the souls to Heaven, they may just leave them on Earth.”

“So, what are you planning to do?”

“Jo and I each have our own hunter’s network. Hopefully, we can both contact as many hunters as possible and put an alert out on these wayward angels. It’s gonna be difficult, most hunters have never come across an angel before. As for the angels themselves, some’ll be easier to spot than others. If I can get a hold of Cas, he may be able to help.”

At this, the girl – _Jo, was it?_ – had finished sorting everything into two duffels near the sandpit and had marched over. She was looking between Crowley and Bobby, a perplexed expression on her face. When she noticed Bobby looking, she smiled, “Everything’s set. Your stuff is in the brown duffel bag. Ash has given us a phone each. We have each other’s numbers but that’s pretty much it. I’ll be heading to Hartford first. There’re quite a few hunter families round there. I’ll call in a couple of days, okay?”

“Yeah, alright. Thanks, Jo.”

She nodded in response. “Guess I’ll head out. Stay safe, Bobby.”

Bobby stood and gave Jo a hug, kissing the top of her head. “You too, kid. You too.”

Jo gave him another smile before turning to Crowley and giving him a small wave. Then she turned, grabbed her duffel and headed out of the park.

Crowley coughed and smoothed out an invisible wrinkle from his uniform pants as he stood. “Well, I guess you’ll be wanting to leave.”

Frowning, “Why? You in a hurry to go somewhere?”

“Maybe I am. There’s nothing for you here. I suggest you head to Lebanon, in Kansas. Squirrel has a hideout there. Not that I’m meant to know about it. If you’re lucky, you might find Feathers there too.” Crowley started off to his makeshift home.

Bobby followed. “Wait up.”

Crowley stopped and spun on his heels, glaring at Bobby. “No, you look here. I’ve done my damnedest to keep away from supernatural shit. I’m _human_. I have a brand new, shiny soul and I’ll be damned – again – if I’m going to risk it. I’ve got a job, a life. And you just come swanning in and bring up things I’ve been trying to avoid.”

“All I want is something to eat, Crowley. Then I’ll go.”

Crowley visibly deflated. “Oh. Well, I guess I can help with that. We can grab something from Walmart – they’ll give me a discount.”


	3. Chapter 3

They walked to Crowley’s workplace in silence. Bobby glanced at Crowley every so often, marvelling at the change in the man. His shoulders were slightly slumped, a change from the proud posture he had as a demon. No longer was there a constant smirk on his face. But despite all these alterations, there was still a fire in his eyes. Bobby wondered exactly what kept that fire going.

Crowley just stared at his feet, recalling past experiences with Bobby.

Robert Singer. Drunk redneck extraordinaire. Under all that gruffness though, there was a man who’d do anything for his two boys and their angel. A man who had literally been through Hell and still stood tall after it. Crowley could remember what it had been like to look upon his soul. It had been bright – oh, so bright – and scarred. Yet somehow the scars had made it seem all the more beautiful. It had recoiled from Crowley’s grasp, its light desperate to stay away from Crowley’s darkness. It didn’t matter; Bobby’s soul belonged to him. At least, it had been for a while. Bobby had become the first human to outwit Crowley.

With both men distracted by their own thoughts, the first they noticed of the fire was the smell of smoke. Crowley’s head snapped up, taking in the sight of massive plumes of black smoke rising from the Walmart building. Forgetting Bobby, he sprinted towards the structure, only stopping when he saw two policemen coming towards him.

“Sorry, sir. We’re going to have to ask you to please stay back.” One of them said.

“But- What happened?” Crowley stammered.

“Sir,” The same one that spoke before, looked him up and down, “Did you work here?”

“I- Yes.”

“What’s your name, sir?”

“Um…” Shit. What was the name he’d used again? “Ben. Ben Sterling.”

The officers nodded at each other, then turned black eyes on Crowley.

“Well,” the second officer smirked, stepping closer to Crowley and revealing the bloodied body of Andrew. “Looks like the little shit _was_ telling the truth. How the mighty have fallen. Shall we call the others?”

“Nah.” The other demon replies, “Look at him. He’s human and unarmed. Pathetic.”

They lunge towards Crowley, who backs away with his arms up in a futile attempt at defence.

A double flash of orange and both demons drop to the ground. Bobby stood behind them, an angel blade in each hand.

“Looks like I just saved yer life, Ben.”

“Yeah. You did.” Crowley fainted.

 

* * * * *

 

When he came to, Crowley found himself laying on a rather comfortable (at least, compared to what he’s been used to lately) bed. He tried to sit up but was overwhelmed with dizziness, only succeeding in gaining Bobby’s attention with a low grunt as he collapsed back on the pillow.

“Watch it, idjit. Ya bumped your head a bit when you fell. Had a hell of a time convincing the hotel clerk to let us have a room.” He placed a couple of tablets and a glass of water on Crowley’s bedside table, which Crowley frowned at. "Grabbed some supplies while you were out. Those’re just painkillers, you paranoid ass.”

Crowley slowly pushed himself up on his elbows, seized the tablets and swallowed them dry. Bobby rolled his eyes.

“Why’re you helping me?” Crowley asked.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Crowley scoffed, his head throbbing, “Oh, I dunno. Maybe ‘cos I’ve tried to kill your precious Winchesters on multiple occasions. I’ve taken your soul and attempted to keep it for myself. I’ve tortured and killed many of your friends, either directly or indirectly. And that’s just for starters. So, I ask again, _why_ are you helping _me_?”

Bobby surprised Crowley by sitting on the edge of the bed before replying. “I’m helping you because you’re human. When you did those things, you weren’t capable of remorse or regret. You are now. I can see it in yer eyes. And yes, you’ve done some fucking awful shit that I probably shouldn’t forgive, but you’ve also helped. You risked yer own neck going against Lucifer. Ultimately, I know it was all for yer own gain, but there is one thing that I’ve never fully understood. You gave me back my legs.” Bobby lifted his gaze to look Crowley directly in the eyes. Shock and confusion stared back at him. “You had no reason to do that.”

Crowley looked away. “’Course there was a reason; you were bloody useless sitting in that chair.”

“Look me in the eyes and tell me that’s why you did it.”

Looking up, Crowley stared at Bobby for about ten seconds, before chewing his bottom lip and turning away again.

Bobby smirked, “Knew it. You like me, don’t you?”

“You’re more tolerable than most humans, I’ll give you that.”

“‘Most humans’? You’re one of us again, remember? Now that I think on it, why the hell did you faint? You’ve been in fights before.”

“I just… I don’t know. The moment I realised what was happening, I tried to use my powers. It was the first time in such a long, long time that I’ve been so helpless. Even in a demon’s trap I’d retained inhuman strength. Guess it was a bit overwhelming.”

Feeling a little less dizzy, Crowley allowed himself a more thorough examination of the room. It was a typical hunter’s hotel room. Cheap and cheerless. The wallpaper was fading, peeling and clearly not updated since the 1970’s. It was just two rooms with a small kitchenette opposite the bed and the bathroom to Crowley’s left. Hmm. That was interesting.

“One bed, Robert? Bit presumptuous of you, don’t you think?”

“We ain’t staying here, you idjit. Once you’re feeling up to, we’ll be heading to Sioux Falls.”

“Whoa, now. _We_? Didn’t I just get through telling you I’m not interested in getting involved in your little problem?”

“Yeah, ya did. But if you hadn’t noticed, your workplace is now a smouldering ruin and there are demons on the hunt for you. Those two back there implied there were others. Do you really wanna risk staying here? Plus, we both stand a better chance at survival if we stick together.”

Crowley grumbled. “Fine. But I need to grab some stuff from my place first, alright?”

“’Course.”

 

* * * * *

 

“You’ve been livin’ _here_?”

“Where else was I supposed to go, Robert?” Crowley snarled, “I’ve got no credentials, no access to money. Squirrel didn’t exactly set me up to live the high life, you know?”

Bobby huffed a laugh, placing his hands on his hips. “Just never thought you would resort to squatting.” He noticed the salt lining the windows and doors, the iron crowbar in the corner and assorted hex bags lined up on an old shelf.

“Gimme your bag,” Crowley demanded, “I haven’t got much, but I’ll carry it, along with your stuff.”

“Such the gentleman.” Bobby commented dryly, passing over his duffel.

Crowley put the few clothes he had in the pack, as well as the silver knife, toiletries and a few choice hex bags. Dean’s letter was shoved unceremoniously into his pants pocket before Bobby could see it. “It was only temporary. Almost had enough from my job to pay for bond on a unit. By the way, how did you manage to pay for the hotel and the supplies?”

“That’s for me to know and you to wonder about.” Bobby said, with a wink.

“Bloody wanker.” Crowley muttered under his breath, before slinging the duffel over his shoulder. “Rightio. All packed and raring to go. May I be permitted to know how exactly we’re going to get to Sioux Falls?”

“There’s an airport on the edge of town. It’ll take us half an hour to walk.”

Crowley’s face dropped.

 

* * * * *

 

“Over 300 years old and you’ve never been on a plane?”

“To be fair, I was capable of teleportation for most of it!” Crowley fingers dug into the seats armrests. He was surprisingly pale and sweating, eyes darting everywhere.

“Calm down, we’re not even in the air yet.”

“Don’t bloody remind me.”

“You’re behaving worse than Dean.” Bobby enjoyed teasing Crowley. “Want me to hold yer hand, Princess?” He held out his hand for emphasis, which was right when the plane sped up in preparation for take-off. Crowley did in fact grab Bobby’s hand, but it wasn’t the comforting grasp Bobby had been implying; he had to pry Crowley’s fingers open so his hand didn’t break.

Three hours and several complaints of swearing later, they touched down in Sioux Falls Regional Airport.

Crowley had refused to even look at Bobby until he had promised that he wouldn’t be forced to fly again. They had lunch at an Italian restaurant; Bobby would’ve preferred take-away, but with Crowley already in a foul mood, he decided not to push it.

When Bobby headed South with a clear destination in mind, Crowley finally decided to talk.

“Where exactly are we going, Robert? Your shack burned down, if you’ll recall.”

“We ain’t goin’ there, genius. I’ve got friends – well, _a_ friend – who may be able to help us.”

“He got a bed I can sleep on?”

“ _She_ probably does. But I wouldn’t get on her nerves if I were you.”

“Ooh, feisty, is she?”

Bobby ignored that question, but smiled to himself.

Bobby stopped in front of a tidy, double-story house. It looked entirely too neat to belong to one of Bobby’s friends, Crowley decided. He voiced his opinion, which earned him an impatient glare.

“Look, Crowley, stick close to me. Keep yer mouth shut. Maybe you’ll come outta there alive. Maybe I will too.”

With that, Bobby marched up to the door and knocked loudly twice.

“So, what’s this bird’s name?” Crowley asked, “You fancy her, don’t you? You’re blushing too much not to.”

“She’s not a bird, Crowley, and I ain’t blushing,” was the grumbled response, “She’s a cop. Her name’s Jody, but you’d better call her Sheriff Mills. And if you get arrested, I ain’t bailing you out.”

Crowley frowned slightly. “Jody… Jody… Where do I know- Oh, bollocks.”

The door swung open, revealing a stunned and uniformed Jody Mills.

“Bobby?” Her eyes were huge, disbelieving, “Is that really you? ... You’re not a zombie, are you?”

From behind Bobby, Crowley couldn’t help but let out a snort of laughter, which got Jody’s attention.

“And what the _fuck_ are you doing with _him_!?”

Amazingly, Bobby took it all in his stride. “I see two’ve already met. Please, allow me to explain.”


	4. Chapter 4

With a gun aimed at Crowley, Jody listened to Bobby’s account intently. They were sitting in Jody’s lounge room, herself and Bobby sharing the sofa, Crowley sitting awkwardly in an armchair.

“So, let me get this straight. You were in Heaven, with _angels_. They ‘fell’ and now Heaven’s falling apart?”

“Pretty much.”

“There’s one way in and out of Heaven. You and another hunter came through to search for angels.”

“Ah-huh.”

“And _he_ ,” she waves her gun in Crowley’s direction, making him flinch, “he’s human? He was a demon?”

“King of Hell, thank you very much,” Crowley mumbled.

“Do you _want_ to get shot?” Bobby retorted, then to Jody, “Yes, he’s human now. Jody, please understand that as a demon, he had no humanity in him. He was a monster.” Crowley tried not to let the pain of hearing those words coming from Bobby show. Bobby continued, “But believe me, whatever he did to you back then, he regrets it now.”

“He tried to kill me, Bobby.” Jody stated flatly.

“He’s tried to kill all of us, at some point. He stole my soul, dragged me to Hell. Point is, he’s sorry.”

Jody’s eyes flicked between Bobby and Crowley. “I might believe it if I heard it from him.”

Bobby looked at Crowley expectedly. Crowley shrugged, “It’s kind of hard to feel sorry for someone when they’ve got a gun aimed at me.”

Jody holstered her gun, refusing to take her eyes off of Crowley while she did so.

Crowley straightened himself in the armchair, breathing a little easier without the gun in his face.

“Jody – sorry – Sheriff,” He swallowed. This was more difficult than he had expected. It wasn’t that he didn’t feel guilty for what he did; it was more the fact that he couldn’t remember having ever genuinely apologised for something that he’d done. He couldn’t even recall if he’d done so during his first time as a human. “Sheriff Mills, I can honestly say, I regret what I did. It was wrong of me to use you. You were in a fragile place, and I took advantage of that. I understand if you can’t forgive me. I don’t deserve forgiveness, from you or anyone, for what I’ve done. I am truly sorry.”

Both Jody and Bobby had their eyebrows raised. Neither had expected such a meaningful apology from the former-demon.

Jody was the first to respond. She nodded slightly, still watching Crowley carefully.

“I don’t quite know why, and it’s probably against my better judgement, but I believe you. I don’t like you and I don’t trust you, but I do think you were sincere just then.” She focuses back on Bobby, “I will help you, but _he_ is to stay elsewhere.”

“Understood. I don’t want to risk yer safety with this, so I’ll organise some place for Crowley and I to stay. I’ll come back once you finish work so we can get some things sorted.”

“My shift ends at five. See you then, Bobby.” She smiles, before leading both men to the door.

* * * * *

 

“You went on a _date_ with Jody!?”

“Calm down, mate, nothing happened. Well, I nearly killed her, but nothing _sexual_ happened, I swear!”

Bobby just shook his head and returned to writing in his journal.

Having decided to take a nap on one of the hotel rooms’ twin beds, Crowley grabbed a pair of track pants that served him as pyjamas. He began to get undressed, but had only managed to remove his shirt before he was interrupted by Bobby.

“Holy shit, you have tattoos!?”

Crowley looked up to find Bobby staring at him, slack-jawed, from the small kitchen table.

“You were watching?” Crowley grinned, puffing out his chest.

“What? No!” Slightly flustered, Bobby forced out, “I just didn’t imagine you were inked up under that fancy black suit of yours.”

“How exactly _were_ you imagining me, now?”

“I- Shut up!”

Smirking, Crowley made show of slowing removing his belt from his pants, keeping his eyes on Bobby the entire time.

“Trying to concentrate here, Crowley.”

“I’m sorry, am I distracting you?” The belt was tossed aside. Crowley started swaying sensually, as he unzipped his fly.

Bobby slammed his hands on the table, “Yes! You are! But not the way you’re thinkin’ it. I’ll be at Jody’s.” He grabbed his pen and journal before storming out of the room.

Crowley stuck his tongue between his teeth in thought. _What an interesting development._ He finished getting changed and hopped into bed.

 

* * * * *

 

Bobby’s thoughts were focussed solely on the task at hand. At least, that’s what he tried to tell himself.

“Hello? Earth to Bobby.” Jody placed a hand on Bobby’s shoulder, bringing him back to reality.

“Huh? What? Oh, yeah, sorry. What were we talking about?”

“Hunters. You’ll be needing the contact details of as many as possible. And you’ll be wanting to go see Dean, am I right? I have his number myself. He’ll probably be able to provide you with more numbers, as well as give you some of your own stuff back. Your possessions were given to the boys, as per your will.”

“Right. Thanks, Jody.”

“There’s one more thing I can do for you.” She scribbled something on a scrap of paper, then handed it to Bobby. “That’s the email of an annoyingly brilliant forger and hacker. She’ll not only set you up with some IDs but she’ll work her magic and no one’ll be able to find out they’re fake.”

Bobby tucked the scrap into his journal, before placing it back in the duffel.

Fidgeting with her mobile, Jody asked “Do you think I should be the one to tell him you’re alive? I mean, what would he do if he just heard your voice, straight up?”

Bobby paused in thought. “Yeah. That’s probably a good idea.”

Jody nodded, finding Dean in her contacts. It rang for a few seconds before being answered.

_“Jody? What’s up?”_

“Hi, Dean. Umm, I have some pretty big news to tell you. You might want to sit down.”

_“O-kay… is this good news or bad?”_

“Bit of both. I’ll give you the good news first, then said Good News can tell you the bad.”

 _Jeez, thanks Jody,_ Bobby thought.

_“Alright. What’s the go?”_

Jody took a deep breath, “Okay, first up Dean, I’ve done all the tests, he is 100% pure human.”

_“Oh my God, is Sam back again!?”_

Jody winced. “No. It’s not Sam. It’s Bobby.”

The line was quiet for a moment.

 _“Can I speak with him, please, Jody?”_ Dean sounded distraught.

“Of course.” She passed the phone to Bobby, who took a deep breath for himself.

“Hey, Dean. Been a while.”

 _“Holy shit, it is you. You have no idea how happy I am to hear your voice again.”_ Bobby could hear the strain in Dean’s voice.

“It’s good to hear you too. Listen, I need to get in contact with as many hunters as possible. I’ve heard you have a ‘central control’ of sorts. Is there any way I can set up a communications system there?”

_“Yeah, of course, Bobby. Plenty of room here. But how did you find out about the Bunker? I didn’t think Jody knew about it…”_

“It wasn’t from Jody. Umm, look, we need to talk. Where can we meet?”

_“If you’re at Jody’s, I can meet you halfway, say Columbus?”_

“Columbus it is. One more thing Dean.” It was no use hiding it. “When I returned, I came across Crowley.”

_“You… came across… Crowley. What are you trying to tell me here, Bobby? Please don’t say what I think you’re gonna say.”_

“Dean, he’s human now, he needs our help.”

_“Fucking Christ, Bobby! He’s the reason Sammy’s dead!”_

“No, he’s not. Crowley didn’t ask to be cured.”

_“That’s not the fucking point and you know it.”_

“Then don’t talk to him. He’s helping me. He’s trying to redeem himself, and I sure as Hell ain’t gonna kill him now. I can understand why you don’t like him or trust him, but he might be able to provide us with valuable information.”

_“I swear, Bobby, if he so much as looks at us funny-”_

“You’ll what, Dean? Kill an innocent man?”

_“’Innocent man’? Bobby, this is **Crowley** we’re talking about. He is far from innocent.”_

“Not from my view, he ain’t. The demon Crowley was a different person to human Crowley.”

_“He’s not staying here!”_

“Then neither am I.”

There was an audible sigh from Dean’s end. When he speaks again, his voice has lost it’s edge. _“The fuck, Bobby? I just find out you’re alive again and we start fighting over Crowley. You know what? Fine. He can stay. But there will be rules and if he breaks just **one** , he’s out.”_

“He’ll be good. Thanks, Dean. I guess we’ll see you around midday tomorrow.”

 _“Yeah.”_ Dean hung up.

“Goodbye to you, too, idjit.” Bobby handed the phone back to Jody, thanked her and headed to the door. Before he left, Jody grabbed lightly at his jacket arm.

“Listen, Bobby. Please be careful. Especially with Crowley. Don’t become too complacent around him. Even if he is human now… better safe than sorry, right?”

“Don’t worry, Jody. I’ll be fine. I always am.” Leaning down, he gave her a brief kiss on the cheek, and left.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things start heating up in this chapter. But only to a simmer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There have been a few changes from my original posting here as I somehow managed to mix up my Lebanons.  
> Should be right now.

Soft snoring greeted Bobby as he returned to the hotel room. He was exhausted, so he dumped the duffel the moment he was inside the door and plonked down on the second bed without bothering to get changed. From his bed, he could see Crowley’s sleeping face. He looked younger when he was sleeping; frown lines smoothed out and… was that a slight smile? Bobby wondered what he was dreaming about.

No. What the fuck was he thinking? He realised he’d been looking at Crowley as he had once looked at Karen, his wife, oh so many years ago. Turning onto his back, Bobby told himself he only cared for Crowley’s wellbeing, not the man himself.

He dreamt of Crowley; the intellect which had set him apart from other demons; the stunning dragons adorning his shoulders and chest; the smirk that’d been on his face when he was stripping, knowing Bobby was watching.

Too soon, the sun rose. The dream was forgotten and the morning wood hurriedly taken care of in the shower.

 

* * * * *

 

“Rise and shine, Crowley!” Bobby threw open the curtains, allowing the bright sunlight to flood the room.

Crowley groaned, pulling the covers over his head, a muffled “Fuck off” the only indication of his semi-conscious state.

“Get up, you lazy lump, we gotta get going soon,” Bobby roughly tore the sheets from Crowley’s clutch, briefly hoping Crowley wasn’t the type that got naked in bed, before dragging them down to the end of the bed. Thankfully, Crowley was at least wearing pants. He lay on his stomach, his face buried in the pillow. He very much resembled a grumpy teenager on a school day morning. That thought gave Bobby an idea.

One hand gabbed Crowley’s ankle tightly, while the other ran one finger along the bottom of his foot, from heel to toes. Crowley squawked, thrashing wildly, and managed to kick Bobby in the head. Bobby, however, was laughing too hard to even notice.

“You fucking wanker!” Crowley growled, pulling his foot from Bobby’s grasp.

“At least yer up now.” Bobby grinned smugly, “Get dressed, we’re going on a road trip.”

“Where now? Thought the Sheriff had all the answers.” Standing up, Crowley’s pants fell loosely about his waist. Bobby saw and quickly busied himself with packing, hoping Crowley hadn’t seen his blush.

“Ah, not quite all of them. She gave me Dean’s new number. We’re meeting him in Columbus, then he’ll take us to this ‘Bunker’ thing of his.”

Crowley stopped short. “You do realise, Robert, that Dean threatened to kill me if he ever saw me again? Does he know I’m with you?”

“First of all, don’t say you’re ‘with me’ - makes it sound like we’re dating. Secondly, yes, he knows. And he’s agreed to let you stay as long as you follow a few rules.”

“Rules? What sort of rules? What exactly does he think I’m gonna do?”

“I don’t know what sort of rules, he’ll tell us later! And he probably thinks yer gonna torture us, kill us or sell us out!” Bobby couldn’t help but feel a little bad for raising his voice. He turned around to find Crowley dressed in a black collared shirt and dark grey jeans.

Bobby snorted, “Do you even know what colours are?”

“Black suits me,” Crowley countered.

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s get goin’.”

 

* * * * *

 

Bobby hired them a Toyota Corolla and they set off to Columbus with Bobby at the wheel.

Crowley, having been used to instantly zapping from one place to another, soon got bored of staring out the window at the seemingly endless countryside. Bobby liked driving without music, so Crowley was left with only his thoughts to entertain himself.

“Robert?”

A grunt was Bobby’s acknowledgement.

“I was thinking,” Crowley paused, trying to find the best way to phrase his question, “If we’re gonna do this – mission – it’d probably be useful for me to learn how to… fight. Like a human. Again.” _Smooth_.

“You want me to teach you how to fight?”

“Well, yeah. You saw how I was back at that park. Without my powers to draw on, I’m bloody useless.”

“You’re not useless. It was just a shock, the first time. I doubt you’d faint again.”

“I’d rather not take the chance, if it can be helped.”

“Understandable. Alright, once we get to the Bunker, I’ll start giving you lessons. That alright?”

“Sounds lovely,” Crowley smiled, “and thank you.”

“Ya can thank me after you’ve managed to knock me down,” Bobby teased.

“Challenge accepted.”

 

* * * * *

 

They stopped briefly in Belden, a small village, for fuel and food.

“You ever tried a pretzel?” Bobby asked, noticing Crowley eyeing the bowl of baked bread on the table.

“Nope. Tended to avoid salty foods as a demon, for obvious reasons. I guess the habit carried over.”

Bobby picked up a pretzel and held it out toward Crowley, who eyed it suspiciously. “Try it.”

Using a napkin to cover his fingers (just in case), Crowley took the pretzel. He turned it around and sniffed it before taking a small bite.

Bobby watched in fascination as Crowley made various faces, mostly involving frowns, trying to decide whether he liked it or not.

“It… tastes… odd.” He took a few more bites, made a few more faces, before licking his lips. “Is it meant to make me so thirsty?”

Bobby laughed, “Yeah. They tend to do that.”

They soon received their meals, Crowley grabbing a large bottle of water, and were on their way again.

 

* * * * *

 

The closer they got to Columbus, the quieter Crowley became. Determined to try and help ease the tension, Bobby pulled over to the side of the road for a quick chat.

“Crowley, I know ya don’t want to see Dean.”

“Bit of an understatement, that.” Crowley muttered, “And I seriously doubt he wants to see me.”

“Not at the moment, no. But that’ll change, I’m sure. You’re a good guy now, Crowley. If I can see it, Dean will too.”

“But he doesn’t want me around. How am I meant to show how I’ve change if he doesn’t let me stay?”

“He will let you stay. He mightn’t want you around yet, but I do. _I_ want you to stay with me…” Those last few words slip out and before he knows it Crowley’s mouth is pressed against his own.

Leaning across the gap of the seats, Crowley wrapped his arms around Bobby’s shoulders. He could feel the hunter tense, his breath hot and ragged. Crowley let out a small moan, and the hunter melted into the kiss. He shakily ran his hands down Crowley’s sides, allowing them to rest upon the other man’s hips. A soft tongue tickled Bobby’s lips, so he parted them to allow its entrance. They stayed like that for several moments, both vying for dominance, before one of Crowley’s hands wandered down Bobby’s chest towards his crotch.

Distracted by the tongue and moans of the man almost on top of him, Bobby didn’t realise where the hand was until he felt a gentle squeeze of his semi-hardened, denim-clad package. He jerked away instantly, eyes wide and thoughts going a million miles an hour.

“Whoa, what the hell are you doing!?” he stammered, pushing Crowley back into his seat, “What the hell am _I_ doing!?” His gaze focused anywhere except on Crowley. “We… we gotta go. Dean’ll be waiting.” He started the engine and took off like nothing had happened.

Without a word, Crowley resumed staring out the window.


	6. Chapter 6

After leaving the car at the airport, they walked to the arranged meeting place, Crowley following a few steps behind Bobby.

They found the Impala in the parking lot of a local diner. The restaurant itself was packed. The only seats available belonged to a booth, which was where they found Dean.

Dean almost tackled Bobby, the hug was so forceful. They patted each other on the back before Dean indicted the booth he’d saved. Then he noticed Crowley.

“The hell’s he looking so miserable about?” he asked Bobby.

“Nothin’,” a bit too quickly, a cough, “He – ah – he knows ya don’t want him around.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t. And I don’t get why you do. But let’s just get on with this, okay?”

Dean and Bobby sat opposite each other in the booth; which left Crowley in a very uncomfortable position. He swallowed, eyes darting between the two spare seats, an unknown tight feeling in his gut. He stood there were about a minute before Bobby leaned over, grabbed hold of his shirt and dragged him down next to him.

“Idjit.”

The waitress arrived to take their orders, “Hi, may I help you?” Her eyes lingered on Dean before Bobby regained her attention.

“Yeah, I’ll have Double Deck Combo and a black coffee.” She scribbled on her notebook.

With a not-so-subtle wink, Dean asked for “Beef on a bun and a yammer pie, thanks.” Another scribble. She turned her attention to Crowley, who received a nudge in the ribs before he said “Um, just a coffee. Black. Ta.” He attempted a smile, but it fell too quickly. She frowned slightly and added one last scribble to her notes.

“I’ll be back with your meals in a few minutes.” She smiled again, particularly at Dean, spun and walked back to the kitchen, her hips swinging suggestively.

Dean watched the entire show, only turning back when she’d disappeared.

“Okay, Bobby, spill. How are you back? What’s the big bad, this time? And, seriously, why is Crowley looking like you kicked his Hellhound?”

“Hmph,” was Crowley’s response.

“Don’t worry about Crowley. He and I need to have a little chat, later on.” Bobby gave Crowley a look that said _stop being a dick or I will hurt you_ , “As for the rest, it’s a long story.”

“Better start talking then.”

Bobby explained everything, once again. He wondered if he should just write a report, so he didn’t have to repeat it anymore. Halfway through, their meals and drinks arrived. Crowley meanwhile was completely quiet, twitching occasionally when Bobby’s arm or leg would accidentally touch him.

“Hey, Crowley, move yer ass!”

Having been unceremoniously shoved out of the seat, Crowley guessed it was time to begin the torturous ride to the Bunker. He sat in the back of Dean’s Baby, the chatter of the two men in front became a buzz in his head, and he soon drifted off to sleep.

 

* * * * *

 

“So, John’s father didn’t abandon him?” Bobby didn’t know what to make of the whole thing.

“Nope. If fact, he died saving Sam and I.” Dean was sombre, “He was a good man.”

They were quiet for a while. It was around 5pm when Dean broke the silence.

“We’re almost there, Bobby.” Dean smiled, “You’re gonna _love_ this place.”

Dean pulled the car to a halt at the foot of a high cliff. Bobby’s brow furrowed, much to Dean’s amusement.

“Watch this.” He pushed a button on his keychain, and a dull clunk was heard from somewhere.

Suddenly, the rock face split open, revealing the cavernous entrance to a concrete-lined tunnel.

“Holy shit…” was all Bobby could articulate.

Dean manoeuvred the car through the passage, finally parking in a massive garage. Bobby’s eyes grew huge as he spotted classic car after classic car. They mightn’t be the fastest vehicles around, but boy they were beautiful!

Dean parked the Impala between a Pontiac Streamliner and a Jaguar SS1 coupe. Bobby turned around to tell what he assumed would be a still irritable Crowley to get out, only to find the idjit fast asleep.

He met Dean’s questioning eyes, “You go on. I gotta talk to him anyway.”

“Alright. When you’re done, just go through that door,” he gestured, “and head down the corridor. At the end is a set of stairs. Take them up to the top and you’ll find the main floor. I’ll be somewhere around there. We’ll talk rules later.” He stomped off.

Bobby sighed, running a hand over his face and trying to figure out exactly what to say to Crowley. He felt bad for the way he had reacted before they had met with Dean. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Crowley – he did – but no one, other than himself, had touched him like that since Karen.

Kneeling slightly on the base of the door opening, Bobby gently shook Crowley’s shoulder, “Time to wake up.”

With a groan, Crowley opened his eyes. He caught sight of Bobby and closed them again.

“C’mon, Crowley, I’m sorry. I panicked. Can we talk? Please?”

Crowley opened one eye. “Listening.”

“I like you, Crowley. I do. But please understand that I haven’t been with anyone… like that, since Karen. And that was over twenty years ago.”

Two eyes looked back at him now, incredulous, “You haven’t had sex in _over twenty years_?”

Glaring slightly, “Can we get back on topic, please? I like you, Crowley, but not _that_ way-”

“You seemed pretty keen at the start.”

“Crowley.” Bobby warned, “I’m not kidding around here.”

“Nor am I.”

“I’m glad you feel comfortable around me, but please just don’t get _too_ comfortable, alright? I ain’t gay. Never have been, never will be. I’m not saying I’m against gays; I’m just not one of them.”

“Are you friend-zoning me, Robert?”

Bobby snorted. “You’re the only person who calls me that, y’know?”

“You’re the only person to call me princess and live.”

“Heh, right, ya remember that. I only call you that cos yer such a prima donna. Anyway, we’d best head upstairs before Dean thinks you’ve strangled me.”

“It’s been tempting, I’ll admit.”

 

* * * * *

 

Dean had gone all out on the rules. He had a giant flip-chart and permanent marker ready to bind Crowley’s freedom to paper.

“Rule 1: No magic. That includes spells, runes, hex bags, and magical items.”

Crowley sighed, admitting, “I have some defensive and protective hex bags in my stuff. What do you want done with them?”

Dean thought a moment. “Bring them here, dismantle them, and sort out any usable ingredients. There’s a storage room for things like that – which you’re not allowed in.” He writes the first rule in large block letters at the top of a page.

“Rule 2: Stay out of my room, Sam’s room, room 7B, and the ‘special’ storeroom. The storeroom, Sam’s room and 7B will be locked at all times unless it is deemed necessary.” This is written.

“’Deemed necessary?’” Crowley mocked, “Since when do you use such sophisticated terms?”

“Since you tried to use said terms against Bobby!” Dean snapped. “Speaking of which, Bobby, would you like to add your room to the ‘out-of-bounds’ list?”

“Um, no, it’s alright. It’s not like I have anything in there.” Dean shrugged in response.

“Rule 3: Help with chores. Cooking, washing up, vacuuming, laundry and trash duties are to be rotated among everyone under this roof. Trade-offs can be discussed as long as there’s a good reason.” Once again, this is added to the list.

“Rule 4: You are not to leave the Bunker without someone with you and with permission. You may be human now, but there are things out there that will recognise you and will take you if they can. Frankly, I don’t give a shit if you get ganked by some vampire with a grudge. What I do care about, is if they get to us through you.”

Crowley grumbled a bit at that, but then considered the possibility of making excuses to spend time with Bobby. The older hunter was in denial, Crowley could see that.

“Right, that’s it for now. But I can always add more, if needed.” Dean stood.

Indicating towards a large arched doorway, Dean announced, “Allow me to show you to your rooms, gentlemen.”

He led partway down the hall before stopping at a door. “This room is mine. Sam’s is down the hall and already locked. There are eight more rooms on this floor. Feel free to pick your own.” He gave Bobby another hug, before entering his own room and closing the door. There was a slight click of the lock sliding into place. _Paranoid bastard,_ Crowley thought, not realising Bobby had thought that exact same thing of him two nights ago.

“Wonder if there’s a room with a view?” Crowley joked, eliciting a snort from Bobby.

Bobby chose a room to the left of Sam’s and Crowley quickly claimed the other side. They bid each other goodnight and settled in for their first night in the Bunker.


	7. Chapter 7

Bobby couldn’t sleep. That in itself wasn’t particularly odd, especially for a hunter. But the reason for the lack of sleep was because he couldn’t stop thinking about Crowley. The former demon fancied him, there was no doubt about it, and for some bizarre reason, Bobby found himself wondering what it might be like to allow himself to be in a relationship with the man. A relationship. Is that what Crowley wanted? The smarmy bastard had always been one for innuendo, and it hadn’t always been solely aimed towards Bobby. Sam, Dean and even Castiel had been subject to Crowley’s flirtations. But that had been when he was a demon. Human Crowley, now that was a different story. He was still intelligent, but it was no longer the focussed cunning so often seen amongst demons. He was still flirtatious, although Bobby noted it had never been directed at anyone other than himself lately. He was still rather self-centred, but he was much less arrogant. And then there was the fact that he was a man. Bobby’s never had any interest in men before, what the hell made Crowley so different? It made no sense.

BANG!  


Bobby nearly fell off his bed at the noise which was easily identified as coming from Crowley’s room. Grabbing the large blade he’d taken from the Men of Letter’s collection, Bobby rushed into the neighbouring room, not sure what to expect.  
Crowley was lying on the bed, asleep, but not peaceful. He was tossing and turning, mumbling and growling, his hands balled into fists and his facial expression one of pain and anguish. The bed had been pushed to one wall, so it was likely that the bang was a result of Crowley’s thrashing.  


Gently placing the blade on a nearby dresser, Bobby moved closer to the bed, trying to figure out the best way to calm him down.

“No… please, no.” Crowley whimpered.

Bobby placed one hand on Crowley’s clammy forehead. “Shhh...” he whispered, “It’s okay, Crowley, you’re safe now.”

Crowley groaned but his breathing eased slightly.

After several minutes, Bobby was content with Crowley’s stilled state of sleep, and he returned to his room and his thoughts, glad that Dean hadn’t also woken.

* * * * *

Dean was analysing every move Crowley made as he disassembled his hex bags. There was already a large pile of ingredients deemed usable sitting on the kitchen table, and a much smaller pile of discarded items in the trashcan by Crowley’s feet.

Bobby had his head in the pantry, searching for food that was still edible.  


“Dean, we’re gonna need more food if we’re gonna be using this place as a base.”  


“There’s some hotdogs in the freezer,”  


“We can’t live on just hot dogs. Look at this,” Bobby shoved a jar under Dean’s nose, making him recoil in disgust.  


“Gross! What the fuck is that?” Dean dry-wretched.  


“That’s a jar of mayonnaise. Expired February 16, 1952.”  


“Alright, alright. I’ll go grab some stuff. You stay and watch Crowley. Anything else you want while I’m out?” He grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair, then waited in the doorway.  


“Uh, nah, I’m all good. Crowley?”  


“Huh?” Crowley looked up from the hex bags.  


“You need anything from the shop?”  


“Oh, no. Thanks.” He went back to work.  


Dean nodded and left.  


Bobby took the chair Dean had vacated and looked intently at the man opposite him. Crowley, feeling the change in atmosphere, raised his eyes to Bobby.  


“How long have you been having nightmares?” Straight to the point was the best method, Bobby had decided.  


Crowley lowered his gaze and continued removing the parts of an anti-psychic bag. He was quiet for quite some time, but Bobby knew he’d answer eventually.  


“Since I became human.” Owl feathers were placed on the table.  


“You managed to control them?”  


“I’d been taking sleeping pills. They helped.” Cayenne pepper.  


“Just over-the-counter sleeping pills?”  


“At the start. But then I needed the strong ones. You need a script to get them. I couldn’t get a script, so I… stole some from a fellow I knew had them.”  


“What about at the hotel? You didn’t have anything then.”  


Crowley hesitated, “That was the only night I slept well without the pills.”  


“Any idea why?”  


“Yeah.” Some pins were added to an already large pile.  


“Yeah? You gonna elaborate?”  


“You.”  


Bobby frowned. “Me?”  


“Yeah, you.” Crowley tossed an emptied hex bag in the trashcan. “I dunno. I felt… safe. With you.”  


Bobby thought for a moment.  


“Look, Crowley, I have an idea. Now, I don’t want any ideas getting into yer head, but I think it might be a good idea, for both our sakes, if you were to share my room.”  


Crowley began to smirk.  


“My room, not my bed!” Bobby emphasized, but the smirk remained.  


“And how do you think Dean is going to take that idea?”  


“What he doesn’t know, won’t hurt him.”  


“In that case, Robert, I would be delighted to share your room.”

* * * * *

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” Crowley asked. He was standing awkwardly at the door to Bobby’s room, while Bobby himself put a spare mattress on the floor.

“I prefer my sleep undisturbed, Crowley. Jus’ don’t go expecting pillow fights and I mightn’t kick you out. There’re some spare sheets and blankets in the wardrobe. Grab some, will ya?”

Crowley did so and proceeded to make his bed while Bobby shuffled into his. Bobby had always dressed in the bathroom, so he had been in his bedclothes for a while. Crowley, however, was still in his smart-casual attire.

Noticing Bobby’s strained face eyeing his clothing, Crowley asked, “Would you prefer if I were to change elsewhere?”

Bobby grunted, then turned away from Crowley, “Nah. Just do whatever and go to sleep.”

Crowley mock saluted, then stripped quickly, put on his pyjama pants and hopped into bed.

Silence reigned for all of 5 minutes.

“Robert?” Crowley lay on his back, staring at the ceiling.

“What?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Ya just did.”

Crowley rolled his eyes, but persisted, “Why did you use tongue? I don’t mean before… I mean, with the deal.”

Bobby rolled over to face the man who wouldn’t let him sleep. “You’re asking me that now?”

“Yeah. I’d been wondering ever since it happened, never bothered to ask though. Don’t think I cared to know… before.”

“Tell you what, Crowley. If you answer a question of mine, I’ll answer one of yours. Deal?”

Crowley frowned, “That depends on what you want to ask.”

“Okay, then, how about this? If you don’t want to answer something, I won’t push. But that goes for me, too. If I don’t want to answer something, you change the question.”

After a moment of consideration, Crowley agreed. “Deal.” He smirked in the darkness, “Shall we make it official?”

“What do y- oh. No. I don’t think that’d be necessary.” Bobby was thankful Crowley couldn’t see him blush. “Right. I’ll answer your question. I already explained part of it, back in the car. I kissed you… like I did-”

“With tongue?” Crowley chuckled.

A glare was aimed toward the shadowed blob on the lower mattress, “Yes, ‘with tongue’. I kissed you like that because-” Bobby took a deep breathe. He didn’t like talking about this, but considering how Crowley felt about him, he decided the man deserved the truth. “-because it’d been so long since anyone had shown any interest in me. A hunter’s life is a lonely one, unless you’re the type to just jump from one woman to the next. But that’s never been me.”

Crowley hummed softly in response.

An impatient grunt told him that Bobby had finished with that question. “Alright, now it’s your turn to answer one of my questions. Why were you so fascinated with my soul? I mean, first you try to keep it, despite our agreement, then when I died, you kidnapped me and dragged me to Hell!”

Crowley winced. “Robert, you underestimate your value. When we made that deal, I told you the truth. It wasn’t simply a case of a request being completed, that’s not how Crossroads deals work. The soul is the key, quite literally. In the hands of a Crossroads demon, a human soul is an immensely powerful tool. But the quality of a tool can drastically change the outcome of a … ‘project’. Your soul was impeccable. Your soul had enough power stored within it to do the job of fifty of the souls Hell usually takes in.”

Bobby snorted in disbelief, “You expect me to believe that? I ain’t nothin’ special.”

“Oh, Robert, how wrong you are.” His voice was strong, but if the light were turned on, Bobby would have been able to see the pure distress etched on Crowley’s face.

“Whatever,” Bobby dismissed the answer, “What’s your next question?”

Crowley considered this for a few minutes, then he quietly asked “Your wife… how did she die?”

“Demon. Not going into details.” Bobby’s voice was terse.

“Is that why you became a hunter?”

“Yes. And that was two questions.”

Crowley gave a small snort of amused agreement, “Ask away.”

“Did you really sell your soul for an extra 3 inches of dick?”

There was a moment of silence and Bobby wondered if he’d touched a nerve.

Eventually, “No. Not going into details.” Bobby nodded to himself.

“Alright, second question to make us even. Why do you fancy me?”

Crowley almost laughed. The past was clearly a sore topic for both men and it was something of a relief to return to the present. Plus, Crowley enjoyed making the hunter feel uncomfortable and Bobby was making it so easy by asking questions like that.

“You intrigue me. Most hunter’s I met are not too far from being monster’s themselves. They see anything not human as something to kill, no questions asked. But you, Singer, I’ve seen your notes, read your journals -”

“You’ve what!?”

Crowley laughed, “Understanding your enemies is the first step to overcoming them, Robert. Yes, I went through your stuff, I needed to know if you were a threat. Anyway, I know how you think and I must say, it’s a refreshing change from the typical hunter mind-set, Dean Winchester’s for example. Also, you’re easy on the eyes. I have one more question, if you’ll indulge me.”

"I- uh, yeah, shoot.”

“You may not be gay, Robert, but I don’t think you’re being totally honest with yourself if you think you’re 100% straight. I’ve seen the way you look at m-”

“Is there a question here, Crowley?”

“Yes. Are you afraid to love again?”

“For fuck’s sake. Go to sleep.”

“Avoiding the question, I see. But you’re not denying it. Ignore it all you want, Robert. I just want you to know there’s nothing wrong with it. And if you ever change your mind… I’ll be here.”

Bobby returned to facing the wall. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longer than normal due to *cue applause* S-M-U-T! Hooray!  
> This chapter contains non-con elements.

The internet is a marvellous thing. Bobby was incredibly grateful for the ability to mass communicate with all known hunters at once. He did indeed write a report on the current dilemma, which was sent via email along with a map to the portal. Hunters were informed of the likely behaviours an angel would show (as described by Esthiel and witnessed briefly in Castiel) and to urge any confirmed angels to get to the portal.

Once the email had been sent, Bobby decided to examine the lore the Men of Letters had left behind. Sam had clearly begun to reorganise what the former inhabitants had left to something somewhat resembling Bobby’s own cataloguing system. He found a laptop which Dean explained Sam had used to keep a digital copy of the catalogue, complete with keywords and summaries. It was pretty impressive.

Dean had gone on a hunt; he’d called, mumbling something about “stinking, wet dogs” before telling Bobby that if he wasn't back in four days, something had gone wrong and that he was staying at a Motel 6 in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.

Life in the Bunker quickly became maddening to the old hunter. Bobby had long maintained a habit of glancing out of windows while he was researching; a habit which insisted it’s continuation despite the Bunker’s obvious lack of windows. Existence underground was stifling Bobby, evident in the way he began to snap at people.

“Roberrrrt! I’m bored!” Crowley slumped into an armchair, extremities sprawled as though that indicated his high degree of disinterest in everything.

Bobby clenched his jaw, trying to focus on the tiny writing of a decades old manuscript. “And what do you expect me to do about it? I’m not your nanny.”

“Ooh, Mary Poppins! Won’t you sing me a song?”

Bobby threw a pen at Crowley.

“C’mon, Robert. You’ve been at that for hours. I know you want to get it done, but you can’t expect to do it all in one sitting.”

Huffing, Bobby reached for another pen.

“Hold up! Look, you said you’d teach me how to fight once we got here. We’ve been here nearly a week, don’t you think it’s about time you show me some of your _moves_?” Crowley winked on the last word.

Snorting, Bobby returned the document to the ‘unread’ pile.

“Alright, Crowley. I ‘spose I did agree.” Bobby raised his eyebrows at Crowley’s crisp shirt and clean jeans with… did that damned idjit iron a crease into his jeans? “You might want to change into something a little more flexible. I’ll meet you in the gym.”

Jumping up excitedly, Crowley gave the hunter a brief hug before skipping – yes, skipping – down the hall. Shaking his head, Bobby finished tidying his workspace then headed to the gym.

The gym itself was one of the few rooms untouched by the Winchesters. One side of the room was dedicated to weights, the other half consisted mostly of a massive mat with some boxing gloves, fencing swords and general safety gear lined up on the far wall.

Crowley entered wearing black sport shorts and a red tank and was clearly quite uncomfortable in them. Bobby eyed him, as he would any other opponent. He was short and stocky, not particularly muscular but certainly not fat. It was difficult to judge his potential, especially as Crowley had spent God knows how long as a demon, and therefore had no need to maintain a healthy body.

“Crowley… umm, how old are you?”

“Let’s see… it’s 2014, so I’d be ‘round about … 353. You’ve got to admit, I’m looking pretty good for it, eh?” He flashed Bobby a cheeky grin.

“I – uh – I meant your... meat suit.”

The grin faded. “Oh. Dunno, exactly. Late forties, maybe. Why?”

“Don’t worry about it. Let’s get started.” Bobby moved into the centre of the mat, motioning for Crowley to join him. “First up, I’d like to see what you can do. Go ahead, try an’ knock me down.” He positioned himself in a wrestling stance, lower to the ground than he’d usually be comfortable with but perfect for grappling with a novice.

Crowley mimicked the posture, with a few minor errors which Bobby would correct later.

A thought occurred to Crowley, “Shouldn’t we stretch first?”

“You think a vampire is gonna let you warm-up before it attacks you?”

“Oh.”

“We’ll stretch after I see what you can do, okay?”

“Right.”

With that, Crowley balled up his right hand and went straight for Bobby’s face. Bobby dodged. An under-powered left swing followed, which was again easily dodged.

As Bobby kept dodging, Crowley became more and more frustrated, soon resorting to badly-timed grapples and uncoordinated kicks.

After ten minutes, Crowley was bent double, exhausted and struggling for the breath he needed to curse Bobby who was laughing and honestly enjoying himself.

“I think I’ve seen enough for now, Crowley,” Bobby said, “You’ve a lot to learn, but we’ll get you there eventually.”

Bobby showed Crowley how to punch without breaking his thumb, how to dodge and some basic move recognition and stances. He was a decent student, at least compared to Sam and Dean, who had constantly interrupted and contradicted him at almost every stage. The session actually turned out to be a nice change from the monotony of cataloguing.

They both hit the hay a little earlier than normal, bodies slow and beginning to ache. Crowley would certainly be feeling the pain in the morning, so Bobby put some painkillers and a glass of water on his bedside table before settling into bed. Crowley had fallen asleep almost the instant his head hit the pillow.

 

* * * * *

Bobby was midway through a bowl of some sort of grain cereal when the tell-tale sounds of a sore Crowley echoed through the Bunker.

“Everything hurts, Robert. And I mean _every-thing_.” He shuffled to the fridge, moving as little and as slowly as possible.

“Did you take the tablets, genius?” Bobby asked.

“Yes. But they don’t take effect immediately, and I’m starving.” He grabbed a bottle of liquid breakfast, not trusting his aching arms to reach the bowls in the cupboards above his head.

They sat quietly for a while, until Crowley asked, “Hey, did you um… hear anything, last night?”

“Nope. Slept like a log. Why? Did you?”

Crowley sipped his drink. “I think. I don’t know.” He shrugged, “I might’ve dreamed it, I suppose, but I could’ve sworn I heard scratching. No rodents around here, are there?”

“Not that I know of. Can always set out a few traps, if you like.”

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

Bobby finished his breakfast and decided he’d do the dishes; it was Crowley’s turn, but the poor guy was still wincing with every movement.

“Robert, did Dean say where Castiel was?”

“Not specifically. Said he’d gotten a call from him from a payphone, something about being tricked and losing his Grace. He’d disconnected before saying where he was and hasn’t called since. I think that’s part of the reason Dean’s out so often; he’s trying to find Cas, using hunting as an excuse to travel.”

“Hmm. And, dare I ask, what about young Kevin?”

“He’s gone AWOL. Been leaving Dean messages on his cell though, so he’s alive, at least. From what I’ve heard, that kid was smart, so he should be alright.”

Bobby turned to find Crowley scrunching up his eyes and trying to stretch. Shaking his head, he put down the pot he was cleaning, wiped his hands and walked behind Crowley.

Crowley hadn’t noticed anything and therefore nearly jumped a foot in the air when warm hands clamped down on his shoulders.

“Bloody hell, man! Give me some warning before you do that!”

Chuckling, Bobby began to knead Crowley’s shoulders. A good massage always help ease aching muscles, and Crowley’s delts were in knots. It must’ve been helping as Crowley closed his eyes and relaxed, soon letting out a moan that went straight to Bobby’s dick.

If he faltered now, Crowley would know something was up and Bobby was determined not to let the man know that the something that was up was in his pants. Breathing out surprisingly evenly considering the circumstances, Bobby continued the massage.

Crowley was doing this on purpose, Bobby was sure of it. The moans not only continued, but were progressively becoming louder. After one particularly obscene groan, he couldn’t handle it any longer.

“Jesus fuck, Crowley! Knock it off!” Bobby’s hands clenched the back of Crowley’s chair, his head hung between his arms, determined not to look at the smugness that was surely plastered all over the other man’s face.

Crowley, however, had actually not planned any of it. He had simply responded to the stimulus. His shoulders felt infinitely better after the attention they had received from Bobby.

Shocked at the unexpected outburst, Crowley turned. Even if he hadn’t planned it, he was thrilled at what he found; Bobby panting, body quivering and an unmistakable erection straining against the hunter’s jeans.

“Oh, what’s this, Robert?” He used the deepest voice he could, enjoying the shivers it triggered in the other man. Standing up, he walked around his chair so he faced the hunter. He placed a gentle hand against Bobby’s back, using the other to drag his face up to look at Crowley.

Bobby couldn’t think. Crowley was practically holding him and Bobby was frozen. Crowley shifted even closer so the front of his body was flush against Bobby’s side. His left hand was holding his face, thumb caressing Bobby’s jaw. Using that arm for leverage, Crowley straightened Bobby up and pulled him around so their faces were only an inch apart.

Bobby swallowed. He didn’t know what to do with his hands, so he was somewhat relieved (but also slightly annoyed) when Crowley grabbed them and placed them around his waist. With the smaller man pressed against him, Bobby could feel an answering hardness against his own. This realisation gave his voice back.

“C-Crowley, please, don’t…”

“Don’t? Don’t what?” Crowley pushed at Bobby until his back was against a wall, “Don’t _what_ , Robert?” Crowley tried for a kiss, but Bobby turned away and the smaller man decided the neck was as good a place as any, and easier to reach.

“Oh, God!” Bobby shivered as Crowley’s teeth sunk into his throat. It wasn’t hard enough to break skin, but it sent currents of _something_ (Pleasure? Pain?) to Bobby’s cock. Subconsciously, he clawed at Crowley’s back and began to thrust against him.

Crowley growled his approval into the juncture of Bobby’s throat, before pulling away slightly, “Like that, did you? I got plenty more where that came from.” He sucked at the bite mark, eliciting a delicious noise from Bobby. Just like it had several days before, Crowley’s hand began to wander, slowly making its way down to Bobby’s (probably painful, by now) cock.

This time, Bobby didn’t pull away when he felt the first squeeze. He did turn to look at Crowley though, and Crowley jumped at the chance. Their lips had barely met before they opened, tongues almost battling for supremacy.

Crowley stroked and squeezed from outside the denim, bringing Bobby almost to the verge, but suddenly the muscles that had somehow led the two men to this, began to stiffen and ache once more. _Bollocks_. He would not leave Bobby with blue balls, so he’d have to try another tactic. Hopefully, Bobby wouldn’t panic.

Still snogging the hunter for all he was worth, cherishing every sound he made, Crowley’s wandering hand moved up again, this time stopping at Bobby’s belt buckle. It took a lot of skill to undo a belt one-handed and without looking at it, but Crowley was proud to be a man of many talents. Soon enough, the belt was loose and Crowley’s hand was pushing past the top of the jeans and some old boxers.

Bobby groaned loudly into Crowley’s mouth at the first touch of another’s skin on his cock. Once Crowley had taken him into his hand and began slowly pumping (the angle was quite awkward, otherwise Crowley would’ve gone faster), Bobby couldn’t control himself any longer.

The kissing ceased, only to be replaced by Bobby almost crushing Crowley’s ribs, gasps and moans flowing from the hunter’s mouth into Crowley’s ear. The smaller man angled himself so he could rut against Bobby’s hip while simultaneously bringing off the hunter.

It didn’t take long. A deep groan and Bobby stiffened, abdominal muscles spasming. Crowley stared at Bobby’s face as the man emptied himself in Crowley’s hand. He wanted to remember that expression. It filled him with joy knowing it was him who had caused that look of pure pleasure.

A few more ruts, and Crowley came himself, not caring one iota that it was in his pants. They could be washed, after all. Bobby’s heartrate was returning to normal, but he was shivering and his breathing was laboured. Crowley placed a hand against Bobby’s forehead, concerned he had somehow caused this. And he had.

Bobby was furious. He pushed Crowley away from him, muttering obscenities under his breath, before fixing up his clothes.

“Robert? Ar-” Crowley began.

“Don’t you dare! Don’t you fucking dare!” Bobby grabbed Crowley’s shirt, hoisting him off the floor and slammed him against the same wall they’d just used.

“Robert! Bobby, please!” Crowley’s feet hung several inches off the ground. “Please, whatever it is I did wrong, I’m sorry!”

“You’re _sorry_? For ‘whatever you did’? You’re fucking sorry!?” He pulled Crowley off the wall, only to slam him back against it. “What part of ‘don’t’ didn’t you understand?”

Crowley swallowed, trying to ignore the pain of his skull hitting the wall. “I- I didn’t think- I thought you wanted it.”

Bobby let go, watching Crowley slide to the floor. He stormed out of the room, visibly shaking with fury.

And Crowley was left, not with the image of Bobby’s pleasure, but of his rage.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some sad stuff and past non-con implied and discussed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains what is likely a very poor translation into Gaelic.  
> It's probably wrong, and before anyone asks, I have no clue as to pronunciation.

Bobby returned to the cataloguing with a vengeance. Focussing solely on the task at hand, he pushed the countless thoughts of what had occurred between him and Crowley out of his head. Or at least, he tried.

Meanwhile, Crowley was at a loss. It was clearly safer to avoid Bobby at the moment, but there were things Crowley needed to clarify. Surely, if Bobby hadn’t wanted Crowley’s attentions, he would’ve pushed away, like he had in the car. It wasn’t as though Crowley could have overpowered him, after all. Deciding to give Bobby some space and time to cool down, Crowley did some chores. He found a box of mousetraps hidden in one of the storage cupboards and set them up all around the Bunker.

Managing to stay awake until 2am, Bobby finally stomped down the hall to his room. He’d just opened the door when Crowley sprang from his own room in a long-awaited ambush.

“Robert, please, listen to me.”

“And why the fuck should I? You didn’t listen to me.” Bobby marched into his room and slammed the door in Crowley’s face, locking it for good measure.

Still angry then. Crowley returned to his room, readying himself for a difficult night.

 

* * * * *

 

_Straps of leather and metal kept him from moving. After all this time, he was almost used to them. A wooden rack held him upright, arms and legs spread. Blood covered him from head to toe, but the wounds they had come from had disappeared._

_It was almost time. Time for the next torture session. Had he known that this was what awaited him after the ten years, would it have changed anything? Probably not. It would’ve only started the torture earlier if he’d said no._

_He was alone in the cell. Screams of other victims could be heard, the unlucky ones having queues of demons waiting their turn (or fighting for it), never allowing the souls an ounce of peace. Guess that was something; only one or two demons seemed interested in him._

_Even the cell door screamed._

_“Ah, still awake, I see. Good. I have a special gift for you, this time.” The demon came closer, examining the locks and straps for any wear. The perfect position for the entrapped soul to spit on him._

_The demon tutted, removing a handkerchief from a pocket to wipe the saliva from his face._

_“Now, now, that wasn’t polite. I might just change my mind on your gift.” He leered at the soul. He was going to break soon._

_“We’re going to be doing something a little differently.” He snapped his fingers and the soul found himself lying face down. He began to panic. Every other session, his skin had been flayed from his body, leaving him looking like a chunk of raw meat. This… this left only one part in particular vulnerable._

_“Cha. CHA! Le ur toil!”_ (No. NO! Please!)

_“Speak English, you Scottish bastard!”_

_Hands roughly spread his arse cheeks apart._

 

* * * * *

 

A blood-curdling scream woke Bobby. He had been expecting something – tossing and turning like last time – but that cry was something else. That was the sound of a truly terrified man.

He considered ignoring it, but only for a second.

Rushing into Crowley’s room, Bobby found the man upright in bed, dark hair plastered to his head with sweat, his eyes wide in fear and shock. Before Bobby could even open his mouth, Crowley launched himself from the bed, running towards the bathroom.

Bobby followed, stopping at the doorway. Crowley was hunched over the toilet, vomiting and shaking like a leaf.

Seeing the man like that, it was simply impossible for Bobby to just walk away, so instead he wet a hand towel and placed it over the back of Crowley’s neck. He then put some water in a cup and positioned it near Crowley, but not close enough for it to get knocked over.

Crowley managed to give the man a brief smile of appreciation before he was forced back to the bowl.

Once the vomiting had ceased and Crowley was just sitting against a wall, occasionally shivering, Bobby offered his hand.

“You about ready to come back to our room?”

Crowley looked about ready to burst into tears, but he simply nodded, taking Bobby’s hand and getting unsteadily to his feet.

They walked back to Bobby’s room in silence.

“I’m guessin’ you don’t wanna talk about whatever it was that made you so sick, so-”

“Robert.” Crowley’s voice was hoarse, despite the water. “I – I don’t _want_ to talk about it. But I have to. I owe it to you.”

Bobby frowned, but made himself more comfortable on his bed.

“Time in Hell moves differently. Dean’s probably told you of that. One month topside is equal to roughly ten years below. I was dragged downstairs in 1723, didn’t get topside again until 1864. That’s roughly 20 thousand years in the pit.”

“Shit.”

“Ah-huh. When a soul is first put on the rack, the torture is non-stop for a few years. After a while, though, most of the demons will get bored. Then the specialists come in. They still torture, of course, but at the end of each day, they offer the soul a way off the rack. Pick up a blade, use it on another soul, and you’re no longer a pin-cushion yourself.” Crowley sighed. “I was weak, back then. The very first time I was offered it, I agreed. But the soul they’d picked for me was a child.”

Bobby paled.

“She was nine years old. She’d sold her soul at the request of her father, yet she still called to him for help. I couldn’t do it. Even now, I don’t know whether it was strength or weakness, but I couldn’t do it. She was too young, too innocent. I was returned to the rack.”

“That was strength, Crowley.”

Crowley sniffed a little, “Didn’t stop her from being tortured. Some other demon would’ve jumped at the chance, I’m sure. Anyway, I managed to hold out a little longer. But then, they-” His breathing quickened and he started shivering again, but he continued, “They tried a different tactic. There was one demon in particular who saw it as his- his mission, to break me. He was the first to… rape me.” He swallowed hard, trying not to throw up again.

“Oh, Crowley, I-”

“Not finished. Need to explain.” Taking a few deep breaths, Crowley spoke in a more detached manner, “It became routine. I took up the knife again. This time against a paedophile. It was so easy that time. After a while, I didn’t care who it was on the rack, as long as they bled and screamed. At some point, my humanity was shredded along with whoever was in front of me at that time. I was a demon. _I_ tortured, _I_ raped, _I_ was the one-” His voice broke.

Bobby slid from his bed, dragging the former demon into a hug. “Shh. That’s not you anymore.” Racking sobs overcame the smaller man, and Bobby could feel wetness seeping through his shirt’s shoulder.

“Robert, I’ve got to finish.”

“You don’t have to-”

“Yes, I do. I hurt you, and I didn’t understand how. I didn’t recognise your refusal because I had pushed away my memories. As a demon, only the souls on the racks tried to deny me, and I- I didn’t view them as humans anymore.” Crowley looked up, staring Bobby directly in the eyes. “Robert – Bobby – Sam might’ve been the one to make me human, but you’re the one who truly restored my humanity.”

Bobby smiled and pulled Crowley back into the hug.

“I’m sorry, Robert.”

“’s okay, Crowley. Jus’ don’t do it again.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some fluff and a big ending. Enjoy!

“Umm, Robert?”

“Mm?”

“I think we may have a little… problem?”

Bobby turned in his chair to find Crowley with an armful of mousetraps. He raised an eyebrow.

“I put these out a couple of days ago. Found them all triggered and the baits gone. And then…. You might want to see this with your own eyes.” Quickly dumping the traps on the table, Crowley beckoned Bobby to follow with a motion of his finger. Bobby obliged, his curiosity piqued.

They stopped outside Sam’s bedroom door, where a pile of cheese and meats were artistically arranged into crude picture of a … moose?

“You’ve gotta be shitting me.” Bobby ran a hand over his face. He narrowed his eyes at Crowley, “You didn’t do this?”

“Please,” Crowley scoffed, “I would’ve used camembert. No, Robert, I didn’t do this.”

They both stood there for a while, before Crowley sneakily grabbed Bobby’s phone from his jeans pocket and began taking multiple pictures.

“The hell you doin’ that for?”

“We can’t leave food out, Robert, but I’m sure Squirrel will want to see this, so I’m compromising.” He tossed the phone back to Bobby, before kneeling and gathering the food in his hands. “You might want to inform Dean of the possibility of the Moose’s reappearance in ghost form.” He wandered away, presumably to bin the food.

Bobby remained, wondering if this truly was a sign from Sam. Crowley could just be messing with him. Would he do something like that, now? Although he was right about one thing; it was about time to check in with Dean.

Aaaand Crowley renamed all his contacts. Great.

Hmm.

_“Heya, Bobby, how’s it going?”_

“Dean. Thank god it’s you.”

_“Umm, you called me. Who else would it be?”_

“Crowley renamed my contacts.”

_“… What am I listed as?”_

“Johnny Bravo/Squirrel.”

_“That little fucker!”_

“Dean, focus. I called you cos there’s some weird shit happening here. Now, it _could_ be Crowley mucking around, but I don’t think it is.”

_“Okay, so what’s the ‘weird’?_

“First of all, there have apparently been noises in the night. I haven’t heard anything, but Crowley did. He put out mousetraps.”

Dean made a derisive laugh, _“Rodents. In the bunker. Yeah, right.”_

“Only other option was something supernatural, Dean.”

_“Yeah, yeah. What else?”_

“Well, seems the traps were all triggered, and the bait… the bait was used to make a picture outside Sam’s door.”

_“A picture?”_

“Yeah. A – uh – a moose.”

A sigh from Dean’s end. _“Bobby, Crowley’s messing with you. As much as I hate to say it, Sam’s not there.”_

“I disagree. Of course, if it really is Sam, he’ll likely keep trying to contact us, and you’ll be able to see for yourself. You finished over there, yet?”

_“Uh, yeah, I’m on my way home right now, actually. Should be another ten hours, or so. Hope you’ve left a beer in the fridge for me.”_

“There’s beer in the fridge!?”

_“Crap. No, no there’s not.”_

Bobby laughed, “See you later this afternoon, Dean.”

_“If you haven’t passed out on me, maybe. Later.”_

He hung up as he reached the fridge. No wonder he hadn’t found it before; the beer was hidden _inside_ a large container with strips of lettuce hiding the cardboard from view. Bobby tried to tell himself that Dean was only hiding the beer from Crowley, but he knew better. He only took one bottle, though.

Cracking it open, Bobby wandered until he found Crowley sitting in the middle of the hallway with an Ouija board spread before him.

“Oh, no you don’t!” Bobby snatched up as many pieces of the kit as he could with only one hand, before Crowley could protest.

“Robert! Come on, this could confirm if Sam is here or not!”

“No. Rule 1: No magic. This counts as magic.”

“Says who?” Crowley stood as tall as he could, glaring. It was sort of adorable, like an angry puppy.

“Says me. You ain’t summoning something that may or may _not_ be Sam.”

Crowley pouted, then noticed the beer Bobby had. “Where the Hell did you find that?”

“In the fridge, o’ course.”

“There wasn’t any beer in the fridge. I checked.”

“Dean hid it in some salad.”

“Ha! No wonder it took you so long to find it, you being the carnivore you are.”

“I eat salad, ya idjit. An’ what d’you mean you checked? You were looking for booze?”

“If I’m staying in this hobbit-hole, I want to know what’s available. You can be rest assured, though, you won’t find me drinking _that_ swill.”

“Does the job,” Bobby mumbled, then “Where’d you get the Ouija board from, anyway?”

Crowley shrugged. “It was stuffed away with some old board games in a cupboard.”

“Board games? You serious?”

“Guess the librarians got bored sitting around here all day, too.” He smiled hopefully.

“We’re both too old for board games, Crowley.”

“Oh, lighten up, love. They have some good ones; Monopoly, Game of Life, Scrabble and-”

“No, Crowley. There’s only the two of us, anyway.”

Damn, that was a good point. “Can we go out, then? It’s so dull here.”

 _Screw it_ , Bobby thought, “Was planning on more cataloguing, but what the hell, let’s get out of this hole.”

Whooping, Crowley whacked Bobby on the back, “So, where shall we go? I was thinking maybe catch a movie (I’ve been wanting to see Gone Girl), see the sights of Lebanon, oh! I heard of a charming little café-”

“This ain’t a date, Crowley. You know that, right?”

The hesitation didn’t go unnoticed by Bobby, but Crowley recovered quickly, “Yeah, of course, it’s just a bit of fun. Doesn’t need to be a date to be fun.” He grinned and dashed into his room to find something nice to wear, leaving Bobby feeling like such an asshole.

 

* * * * *

 

“So, yeah, I saved her life, an’ she couldn’t get away from me faster.”

“Wonder why,” Crowley mocked, sipping at his milkshake, “For some reason, most women don’t like to be covered head-to-toe in monster guts.”

With a non-committed snort, Bobby practically inhaled the remainder of his burger.

“Wha’ ‘bou’ you?” Bits of half-chewed food sprayed across the table.

“Bloody hell, Robert, weren’t you ever taught not to talk with your mouth full?” Crowley grabbed a menu to use as a shield.

“Ne’er sat wiv anyone who gave a damn, before.” He finished his mouthful. “So? When was the last time you went on a date?”

“Other than with Jody Mills, you mean?”

Bobby frowned.

“I’ll take that as a yes. To tell you the truth, Robert, I don’t remember. Dating is a relatively new concept. At least, compared with me, it is. I grew up in a time when women were seen as objects, so all one had to do to ‘get a girl’ was make an impression on said girl’s father.”

“Were you married? You had a son, after all.”

“I- Yes. I was married to the daughter of a farmer. She hated me. Rightly so, too. I was a drunk, and a mean drunk at that. I never hit her, if you were wondering, but I made her life a living hell. Then she had Gavin, and frankly, I was jealous.” Crowley gave a short laugh. “Jealous of my own son, can you imagine? She loved him, so I beat him. Eventually, it was too much and she left me. Ran away with some cobbler, took Gavin with her.” He sighed.

Glancing nervously around the café, Bobby decided no one would overhear.

“Hey, uh, can I ask you something? I understand if you don’t want to answer. ‘m just curious, is all.”

“Ask away.”

“You had a wife, yes, but – er – have you always had a thing for, y’know, guys?”

Strawberry milk was added to the already disgusting table as Crowley snorted with laughter, expelling the liquid from his nostrils.

“Ever the subtle tactician, aren’t you, Robert?” He wiped his face with a serviette. “It was a long time ago, but I don’t recall ever ‘having a thing for guys’ back then. Even if I had, it was suicide to act upon it. No, Robert, I think my more open attitude towards sexual orientation occurred after my demonic transformation.”

“Right. Uh, sorry.”

“It’s perfectly alright, Robert. In fact, it’s one of the few things I’m glad the Moose’s cure didn’t remove.” He gave Bobby a wink.

Ever since their talk in the bedroom, Bobby had noticed the minute differences in which Crowley behaved towards him. He still flirted, yes, but Crowley seemed to restrain himself from bodily contact with Bobby unless it was completely platonic in manner.

Dean called halfway through Gone Girl (an annoyed Crowley shooed Bobby out of the cinema), apologising and explaining that he might be a few more days as another hunter called him up on a favour.

After buying a few supplies, and renting a few movies, they headed back to the Bunker.

Crowley made dinner, laughing hysterically at Bobby’s reaction when he initially said it was to be haggis. Bobby was quite delighted and surprised to find a delicious smelling (and tasting) meatloaf.

“Fancy watching the Italian Job tonight?” Crowley enquired, trying not to let himself sound too hopeful.

“It’s the original one, yeah?”

“Of course. Can’t beat Michael Caine, love.”

“Alright. Been a while since I watched a good old car chase.”

Sitting down on the antique love seat (why did he have to think of that), Bobby let Crowley organise the DVD and snacks.

Carrying a tray of sweet drinks, crackers and cheese, Crowley bent over, right in front of Bobby (did that on purpose, idjit) setting the tray on the coffee table. He then plonked himself next to Bobby. Well, next to was a bit of a lie; there was zero space between Bobby’s thigh and Crowley’s. Crowley must’ve been sitting on the crack of the two cushions. Bobby swallowed, but said nothing.

The movie began and Bobby found himself getting used to the feel of Crowley so close to him. It was almost comfortable. He hadn’t sat with anyone like that since Karen. It was nice.

Bobby liked this movie for the cars, but Crowley seemed to find the jokes hilarious. At one particular joke (something about only blowing the bloody doors off!) Crowley burst into laughter, grabbing Bobby’s knee for support to stop himself falling off the couch. The hand remained long after the laughter subsided.

The end of the film heralded a satisfied sigh from Crowley, who turned to ask for Bobby’s opinion. He found the man next to him eyeing his lips. Crowley couldn’t stop the blush. Hopefully, the room was too dark for it to be obvious.

“Good, movie, isn’t it? Much better than the remake. I mean, the remake is good, but it’s not the Italian Job. More like the American Job.”

“Crowley. Shut up.” Bobby leaned in but was stopped by a gentle palm against his chest.

“Now, Robert, have you been sneaking booze into your drinks?”

“What? No.” Oh, Crowley thought he was drunk. “I’m sober, Crowley.”

“If you’re sober, why are you doing this?”

“Because…” Why was it so hard to do this? “Because, I want this. I don’t know why, but I feel comfortable with you.”

“And the whole ‘I’m not gay, never will be’ thing? I don’t want you to feel pressured.”

“I’ve had time to think about it.”

“And?”

“And…” Bobby took hold of the hand against his chest and gave it a kiss. “I want this.”

Crowley’s eyes blew wide. Bobby backtracked a little.

“Uh – but, I’m not sure about - y’know, _everything_.” His eyes darted down, momentarily, and Crowley understood.

“Let’s take it slow, then. That’s fine with me.”

Closing his eyes and leaning in, Crowley’s heart skipped a few beats when he felt the hunter’s lips against his own. Rough hands held his face, he couldn’t pull away even if he’d wanted to (which he most certainly didn’t). There was no tongue, but that didn’t matter, Bobby was too new to this and Crowley didn’t want to risk anything by pushing.

Eventually, they needed to part, and Bobby noticed the time.

“It’s getting pretty late, we should probably call it a night.”

“Mmmm,” Crowley would’ve been happy to stay there all night, cuddled up to his hunter, but Bobby was getting old; sleeping on the couch probably wasn’t the best idea. Plus, Crowley was exhausted. “’spose so.”

They slowly made their way down the corridor, arm-in-arm. Crowley had resigned himself to sleeping on his mattress, but was pulled into Bobby’s bed.

“If it’s alright with you, I’d like for you to share my bed. Just to sleep, y’know?”

“Using me for my warmth, are you, love?” A sleepy smirk appeared.

“Mostly.” Bobby wrapped one arm over Crowley, pulling him close. “Now go to sleep, and keep your clothes on, idjit.”

 

* * * * *

 

Crowley awoke first. After a brief moment of panic as to why Bobby’s hairy arm was wrapped around him, Crowley remembered the night before. He turned his head to look at the man beside him. Bobby was still fast asleep. Over the sleeping man, Crowley could read 9:37AM on the alarm clock. Better get up. He smiled, wondering what he could make for breakfast that Bobby would enjoy.

Delicately, he lifted the arm around him and slid out from under it. He placed it back on the bed just as gently. Christ, Bobby looked so different when he was asleep. Less angry.

Turning, Crowley started for the door.

But stopped dead in his tracks at the sight before him.

Sam Winchester was sitting on his mattress.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was a pain to post.  
> I'd originally had Sam's dialogue as a smaller, italicised font, but I can't figure out how to keep it formatted.  
> It's especially annoying as I've seen others do it.

“Crowley, ghosts don’t work that way.” Bobby was trying to be patient, but it was proving difficult, especially when Crowley was becoming hysterical and angry at being told cold-hard facts.

“Well then, how do you explain it!?” Crowley was pacing, pointedly not looking at the Sam-image sitting in an empty chair. “And don’t you dare say I’m imagining it!”

“All I’m saying is that there has not been a case of one person seeing a ghost, while another cannot. Not without special circumstances. Not to mention, he was cremated.”

“There you go! It’s a special circumstance!” Crowley looked triumphant.

> _“If you’d just listen to me, I think I can explain it…”_

“You can’t hear him, either?” This was going to be annoying. Crowley turned to face what was an empty space to Bobby. “Alright, Sam, prove it’s you, prove you’re really here. Tell me something about Robert that only you know.” He crossed his arms.

> _“A secret of Bobby’s? Oh, once, he got so drunk, he got into a fight with an ex-cop, ended up staying in jail overnight. Naked.”_

“Please tell me you got a picture!”

> _“Ew, gross, no! Bobby’s like a father to me and Dean! We don’t want to see that!”_

“Shame. When was this? I need details.”

“What’s a shame? What’re you talking about?” Bobby never liked one sided conversations.

> _“Would’ve been… New Year’s Eve 1999.”_

“Brilliant.” With a maniacal grin, Crowley turned to Bobby, “Robert, darling, did you, or did you not, go on a bender for the new millennium and end up naked and locked in a jail cell?”

Bobby was the picture of disbelief and humiliation, his mouth opening and closing for a while before he looked at his feet and mumbled, “Dammit, Sam, you swore not to tell anyone.”

Sam had the decency to appear ashamed with himself, but, of course, only Crowley could see him.

Crowley decided to break the ice. “So, Moose, you said you had a theory of why I can see you but Robert can’t?”

> _“Oh. Yeah. I think it’s my – our – blood. When I injected you with my blood, I think you may have become more… attuned to me.”_

“Attuned, huh? Makes sense, I suppose.”

This was quickly pissing Bobby off. “What!? What makes sense? Seriously, Sam, are you even concentrating? How long’ve you been here?” Oh god, that brought up another thought. “Have you been watching us!?” It was odd yelling at someone he couldn’t see, so he just aimed the words to the place Crowley had been looking.

> _“I’ve been around long enough to know about you two, but I wasn’t going to stick around when things got… gross. I’m not a voyeur.”_

Crowley laughed, but he must admit it was a relief, “He knows about us, Robert, but seems like he doesn’t enjoy watching.”

> _“Fuck, no. Can we please change the topic?”_

“Right. What do you remember?” Crowley sat next to Sam.

> _“Uh, well, I remember curing you. Then the pain. And blackness. Next thing I know, I’m in a shop. Or your house. That’s another reason why I think it’s your blood; I was drawn to you.”_

“Shit, you were with me all the way back then?”

> _“Not all the time. There are blanks. I’m guessing that’s the void.”_

“And you don’t remember a Reaper?”

> _“Nope. No Reaper. There is something else though. When I get these blanks, I can still hear voices. People, other ghosts, I’m sure of it, and there are a **lot** of them.”_

“That corresponds with what we think is happening.”

> _“What exactly is happening? I’m only getting glimpses, it’s driving me crazy!”_

“A quick summary: Angels have been kicked out of Heaven. Reapers, as a type of angel, can’t shepherd the recently dead to Heaven, so they remain on Earth.”

> _“Where’s Dean? And Cas? Oh my God, is Cas alright!? Did he fall? And how is Bobby here, anyway?”_

“Dean’s fine. He’s looking for Cas, who has disappeared. He called Dean once, and from the sound of it, he may have had something to do with the fall. As for why Robert is here? Seems the angels held Heaven together. Heaven is falling apart. Robert returned with the help of an angel and another hunter-”

> _“Another hunter? Who?”_

Crowley looked at Bobby, “What was the name of that girl you came down with, again?”

“…Jo.”

> _“Jo!? She’s alive too? That’s… that’s good. She deserves another chance.”_

“Anyway, Robert and Jo were sent to gather as many fallen angels as possible and get them back to Heaven.”

> _“There’s a way back to Heaven?”_

Crowley sighed, hating being the middleman, “Robert, could you please tell Sam about the portal thing?”

“Er, sure.” He tried to imagine Sam sitting in the chair next to Crowley; it helped relieve the awkwardness, if only a little. “Angels have thousands of portals, all over the world, but they all shut down with the Fall. Ash managed to hot-wire one. Nothin’ happened when one of us tried to go through, but pretty quick, an angel found it and managed to return. He made Jo and I bodies, then helped us through the portal. He’s back in Heaven, trying to slow down its collapse.” Bobby turned to Crowley, eyes flickering between him and the empty space.

“Give him a moment to process it, love.”

> _“Shit.”_

“Yep, that pretty much sums it up, Moose.”

> _“And how’re you, Crowley? You seem… happy.”_

Crowley was taken aback by the sudden interest in him. “I- uh, I am. Happy.”

Bobby smirked. He could tell by the look on Crowley’s face that Sam had gone into his mother-hen mode.

> _“And you’re human? Completely? No wanting to torture people?”_

“Human, yes. Torture, no. Are you quite done with the 20 questions?”

> _“Far from 20 yet, Crowley. What about Bobby? You’d better not hurt him.”_

Crowley was definitely uncomfortable. “I- I don-”

“Lay off him, Sam. I know what you’re doing.” Bobby chided.

> _“Does Dean know about you two?”_

“No… and for the sake of my fine arse, I’d rather he didn’t know for quite a while longer.” Crowley shifted uneasily.

“Assuming you're talking 'bout Dean, he’ll want to talk to you himself, Sam. If I remember right, the veil is thinnest around dusk. If you can, come back in about a week. Dean'll be back then. We’ll work on how to get you visible.”

Sam sighed sadly.

> _“I want to hug you so much, Bobby.”_

“Moose asked me to give you a big hug and a kiss, Robert.” Crowley jumped up and launched himself at Bobby, who tried to pry the shorter man off of him, if only for Sam’s sanity.

> _“Looks like I have to go.”_

Sam began flickering.

> _“Just in time too. See you soon, I hope. But… not too soon.”_

And with that, he disappeared.

“Crowley, let’s not traumatize the kid, alright?” Bobby held one of Crowley’s wrists in each hand, managing to keep at least a foot of distance between them.

“Bloody big ‘kid’. He’s gone, anyway.”

“You’d tell me anything.”

Crowley pulled back with a shocked expression, “Why I never! I’ll have you know I’ve never lied to you, Robert.”

“Hm. Well, you reminded me of something I gotta do. Jo said she’d call. She hasn’t.” Releasing Crowley’s wrists, Bobby side-stepped the last attempt at a hug, before taking out his phone and sitting in a chair.

Jo picked up after only a few rings.

_“Bobby! I’m so sorry I didn’t call; been busy as anything! How’re you going?”_

“Better, now I know you’re not dead, thanks.”

_“I said sorry! We’ve set up a sort of Angel rehab centre set up near the portal. Seems some need medical help before they can return to Heaven. How’s your end going?_

“Wow, you have been busy. I’ve sent out emails and maps to all the hunter’s I know still living. I’m staying with Dean and Crowley and – uh – the ghost of Sam…”

There was a moment of silence.

_“Did you say, the **ghost** of Sam?”_

“Yep. The recently deceased can’t get into Heaven. That might be a good thing, at least until it’s stable again. But sooner or later they’re gonna start appearing in our realm and in larger numbers.”

_“Guess we’d better get a move on. Esthiel says he needs another hundred angels for Heaven to be restored.”_

“How many have returned?”

_“… six.”_

“Six? Are you kidding me?”

_“Most have managed to avoid hunters, blending into the human population. I don’t think they’re aware of the way back. Those that couldn’t fit in so easily have been either arrested or taken to psychiatric hospitals. And there are the seven here.”_

Bobby chewed on his lip, “Okay, alright. Hopefully Cas’ll show up soon, he’ll be able to help. I’ll call you back in a couple o’ days.”

_“Sure thing, Bobby. Say ‘hi’ to Dean for me.”_

“See ya, Jo.”

He’d just hung up when a pair of arms wrapped themselves around Bobby’s shoulders.

“Couldn’t help but overhear, love. Seems you need a new plan, and I think I may have the perfect solution.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley's Plan is put in action.

“Somehow I don’t think this guy’ll appreciate you just showing up.”

“He doesn’t need to appreciate it, in fact, it might help our cause if he doesn’t.”

“You ain’t makin’ a lick o’ sense, Crowley.”

Huffing, Crowley spun on his heels and pushed Bobby out of the path of the busy New York crowd and into an alleyway.

“Look, Singer, you want a nationwide broadcast, right?”

“Yeah, but-” Bobby noted the change of name.

“Do you have any idea how much that would cost? Especially across all stations?”

“Well, no.”

“It’s safe to say, you couldn’t afford it. This is the only way.”

Crowley spun again, his old black jacket billowing behind him.

Karl Robertson was a hugely successful journalist and newscaster. He wasn’t contracted to a particular station, but his footage and interviews were used and seen by almost every news station in the U.S. as well as online. He was known for his consistently up-to-date and accurate information. Of course, this feat was only possible to a man who’d traded his soul. Seven years had passed since.

The plan was simple. Crowley was to set up a meeting with Robertson and offer an extra 5 years if he agreed to his request. Of course, this whole set-up was hinged on the fact that Robertson believed Crowley was a demon capable of extending (or ending) his life. Hence why Crowley was back in the suit and coat he’d been known for in his demon-days.

The problem was, Crowley was a method actor. The moment he’d put on his patched-up and cleaned ‘costume’, he’d started behaving differently. He was harsher in his comments, less caring towards Bobby. It hurt to see him so easily turned back into what he’d hated with such passion.

Bobby was feeling out of place himself, having dug out one of his best fake FBI suits from storage. Crowley had even convinced him (blackmailed, Bobby would argue) to trim his hair and beard.

Robertson’s office was on the seventeenth floor of a massive skyscraper. Crowley and Bobby made their way to the front desk.

The receptionist was on the phone. She raised one finger in Crowley’s direction, while continuing her conversation. Crowley scowled.

“Yes, certainly, sir. You’ll find them in your pigeon-hole by Thursday. Please excuse me, I have visitors.” She hung up, saw the expression on Crowley’s face, and turned to Bobby instead.

“Can I help you, gentlemen?”

Crowley was about to go into a rage, so Bobby stepped forward before he could explode. “Yes, we’re here to see Karl Robertson. We don’t have an appointment, but it’s quite urgent and I’m sure he’d appreciate you letting him know we’re here. My name’s Jim Fischer and my colleague here is Ben Crowley.”

“May I enquire as to the subject?” She selected Robertson’s number, hovering her finger over the call button, waiting for a response.

Crowley had calmed enough to politely say “It’s a personal matter. Just tell him that Mr. Crowley would like to see him, he’ll understand.”

“Of course, sir. If you’ll take a seat, I’ll inform him of your arrival.”

Bobby steered Crowley to the uncomfortable chairs lining the room.

“Crowley, you only need to scare Robertson, not his staff or strangers.”

“Get your hands off me! You’re meant to be my colleague, not my boyfriend. You’ll give us away!”

“Crowley, I’m serious. Calm down.”

“I _am_ calm!”

“Yeah, you’re the meaning of serenity.” Bobby nodded to Crowley’ hands, which were balled into fists, knuckles white. “Take a few deep breaths and count to twenty.”

Grudgingly, Crowley forced himself to relax. He tried the breathing exercises and was surprised to find himself calming.

Soon, the receptionist came over.

“Sirs, Mr. Robertson has requested you meet him in one of our private rooms. You’ll find them on the seventh floor. Mr Robertson will be in 7-8M, it’s about halfway down the hall.”

They followed the directions, Crowley holding his arm out to stop Bobby, just before the door.

“What’s wrong?” Bobby asked.

“What if he’s set up some traps? Surely he would’ve researched demons after the deal. If he has salt or a devil’s trap set up, and I just waltz out of it, he’s going to figure out I’m lying.”

Shit. “Okay, I’ll scope it out.”

“Rober-” He was already gone.

Bobby entered the room. Robertson was sitting at a meeting table, in the centre, staring resolutely at his clenched hands. He looked up at the sound of the door closing.

“What’s this? You aren’t the… You aren’t Crowley.”

Eyes searching, Bobby saw no hint of salt. “No. I’m his… bodyguard. Of sorts.”

Robertson swallowed, lowering his head. “What the fuck does a demon need a bodyguard for? Isn’t he already dead?”

There were no mats, nothing that could hide a Devil’s Trap.

“It’s in your best interest, I assure you.”

Robertson actually laughed at that. “Keep my soul safe until it’s taken, is that it?”

“Something like that. If you’re ready, I’ll bring him in.”

“Yeah, yeah, let’s get this over with.”

Bobby left and found a grumpy Crowley waiting in the hallway.

“What the bloody Hell did you do?”

“I scoped the place. No salt, no Devils Trap and he thinks demons can’t die. Guess he’s not into panic mode just yet. That’s when they start looking for ways out.”

“What did you say to him?”

“Said I was your bodyguard.”

Crowley cracked a thin smile, “That’s actually pretty smart. Good job, Singer.”

Straightening his back, Crowley marched into the meeting room, Bobby following behind.

“Karl! Long time, no see. You’ve been doing well for yourself.”

Robertson stood, shaking slightly, and offered his hand to Crowley, who in turn, ignored it.

“Do I have a deal for you, mate!” Straight into the sales pitch.

Shaking his head, “No, I made my deal, and my soul is already yours.”

“No, no, no. You misunderstand me. Hear me out, I promise you won’t regret it.”

Robertson remained quiet, but a subtle nod of his head signalled Crowley to continue.

“I’ll tell it to you straight. I need a broadcast, and I need it seen by the maximum number of people. Not just in the U.S., either, but worldwide. _You_ have the ability to give me that. And for it, I am prepared to extend your stay above ground by, say… another five years?”

That was the only part of this plan that didn’t sit right with Bobby; giving this man false hope.

Robertson nearly choked. “You’ll give me another _five_ _years_ , just for broadcasting whatever it is you want?”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“Wait… what exactly is it you want to be seen?”

“A simple message. Some words, not in English, or any language you know. Not even Demonic, if that’s what’s got your knickers in a twist. It’s not subliminal messaging, either. I don’t care for the excuse as to why it’s read aloud on your show, you just need to speak it, and what happens after is of no consequence to you. So, what do you say?” Crowley gave his most enticing smile.

Robertson was clearly weighing his options, biting his lip and eyes focussed down. Eventually, he looked at Crowley. He appeared a great deal older than Crowley expected; he’d been 32 when he had made the original deal. The seven years had taken their toll on the man. “It’s a deal.”

“Another five years for a simple broadcast. You’ve made the right decision.”

“We – er – we seal it the same way, right?”

 _Bollocks_. Of course, any deal with a Crossroads demon had to be sealed with a kiss. To deny him would spark suspicion. Hopefully, Bobby would understand.

“Naturally.”

Of course, the stupid man wasn’t going to come to Crowley, so Crowley was forced to go to him.

The kiss was as brief as it possibly could be to seal a deal. Crowley didn’t spend time trying to make Robertson feel as uncomfortable as he had the first time. Bobby turned away, trying to ignore the sting of jealousy he suddenly felt.

“I’ll contact you with the details by email within the week.”

Robertson was left alone, feeling relieved and somewhat used.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smutty smut.  
> And the second chapter in a day!

“Did ya have to kiss him?” It was hard to focus on the road with the image of Crowley kissing another man etched into Bobby’s brain.

“Yes, love.” Crowley did look pretty miserable. “It would’ve made him doubt me if I hadn’t. Please forgive me, you know I’d much rather have been kissing you.”

“I know. But, you couldn’t have – I dunno – made some sort of excuse? It was an exchange of services, or sumthin’.”

“If I’d made a deal like that when I was an actual demon, I would’ve still required a kiss. If it involves anything with a soul, it needs a kiss.”

“He didn’t know that.” Bobby grumbled, turning into a diner carpark. “Sorry. I know I’m overreacting. Jus’ didn’t like it.” He parked and was about to get out when Crowley reached over and grabbed him around the neck.

“Look at me, Bobby.” He was inches away from Bobby’s face, hazel eyes seeming to stare into his soul (again). “I did not want to do that.” He leaned in, even closer, now speaking directly in Bobby’s ear. “The only thing I _do_ want to do, is you.” Bobby’s breath hitched as Crowley nibbled his ear.

“Need I remind you we’re in a public place?”

“Mmm, so?”

“So, no, Crowley.”

Crowley slumped back, immediately.

“At least, not now. Maybe later.” Crowley perked up slightly.

“Now, c’mon, idjit. Let’s grab some food.”

 

* * * * *

 

Back at the Bunker, Dean had still not returned. This was definitely a good thing, in Crowley’s opinion.

“So, Bobby, how can I prove to you how much I adore you?”

Bobby tossed his duffel onto a chair, raising an eyebrow. “You serious? We only just got in the door!”

“You’re conscious, so am I. I don’t see the problem.”

“There’s some things I gotta do first.”

“Oh, yeah? Like what?”

“Like torching you’re old suit and jacket.”

That got his attention. “Wait, what!? Why?”

“You didn’t notice? You got a little… power crazy.”

Crowley’s eyes narrowed in anger. “You torch my clothes, I torch your plaid!”

“I’d like to see you try. And I don’t understand you got your panties in a knot, they were from when you were a demon, after all.”

“Robert,” Crowley was struggling not to lose his cool, “with all due respect, I am not the human I used to be. I am who I am now because of the demon I was. While I can understand why you don’t want me to wear them, I don’t appreciate you just deciding to SET FIRE TO MY PROPERTY!”

“Alright, alright! You can keep them. But I want to get you a different suit, just in case.”

“How bloody noble of you,” Crowley tore open the duffel, grabbing his clothes from it, “I’m going to my room.”

Bobby ran a hand through his thinning hair; with Crowley around, it’ll all be gone from stress before too long. Time to do some research and get back into Crowley’s good books.

 

* * * * *

 

The infamous suit and jacket had been placed in a suit-bag and hung in his cupboard (in his room), when Crowley heard a knock at the door. He’d spent the past few hours reading and brooding.

“Crowley?” A muffled Bobby. “Look, I know you’re upset with me, but I’ve made dinner for you. I think you’ll like it.” Footsteps leaving.

Hmph. He _was_ hungry though.

Entering the dining room, Crowley was stunned. His jaw dropped at the sight and smell of foods he hadn’t seen or even thought of in centuries.

“You… did this?”

Bobby nodded.

“For me?”

Another nod.

“You… bloody beautiful, amazing man!” Crowley almost fell on Bobby in his haste to hug the man. Bobby hugged back, glad he seemed to be forgiven.

“Wasn’t sure what you liked, so made a bit of everythin’,” he explained.

“So I see. Looks like you stole Viscount Dundee’s dinner table!”

“I’m glad you like it. Dig in.”

Bobby thought it safest to stick with things he could pronounce, grabbing some lamb chops and shepherd’s pie.

Crowley meanwhile had piled his plate with a bit of everything. Kedgeree, Tantallon cakes and partan bree seemed to be his favourites. Bobby honestly had no idea how such a small man could fit all that food in him.

Once Crowley had stuffed himself, the leftovers were put in the fridge and they headed to the privacy of their room.

“So, am I forgiven?” Bobby asked at the door.

“For what?” Grabbing Bobby by the front of his shirt, Crowley dragged the older man down enough to kiss him. Bobby could still taste the Craig on Crowley’s breath (another special treat).

Bobby steered Crowley backwards to the bed, sitting them down on the edge, still kissing.

Pulling back enough to talk, Crowley smiled, “Are you planning on doing anything, or we just gonna kiss?” He thought for a moment, “Not that don’t like the kissing – I love it – just want to know what you’re comfortable with, love.” He finished with a peck on Bobby’s nose.

Bobby sat there awkwardly. “I – uh – Truth is, I dunno what I’m comfortable with.”

“Then we can start small. How about you take your shirts off? You’ve seen me topless, but I haven’t had the pleasure of seeing what’s under all your layers.”

Nodding faintly, Bobby said, “s’long as you take yours off too.”

“Of course, love.” Crowley pulled off his shirt in one easy move, watching with satisfaction as Bobby subconsciously licked his lips. “Here, let me help you with yours.” He began to unbutton Bobby’s outer flannel shirt, but his eyes remained locked on the hunter’s face.

Meanwhile, Bobby was taking in the sight before him; memorising the coloured swirls and lines of dragons, the small amount of dark chest hair, the pale torso… Without even realising what he was doing, Bobby found himself reaching out and running his hands over Crowley’s skin.

“That’s the way, love, now arms up.”

Somewhat reluctantly, Bobby withdrew his arms, allowing Crowley to pull his tattered t-shirt over his head. The moment he was free, however, he grabbed Crowley securely around the waist, stood up, turned and sat down again so that the (somewhat bewildered) smaller man was now sitting on his lap.

“Bloody hell, Bobby, for a man who doesn’t know what he wants you’re sure being rather dominant.”

“Mmm, I like it when you call me Bobby…” His hands made one more thorough inspection of Crowley’s chest before pulling him close to kiss at his throat.

“Everyone calls you Bobby,” Crowley pointed out, breathily.

“Yeah, but you usually call me Robert. Feels-” A little nibble, “different, coming from you.”

Speaking of feeling, “Ah, Bobby? Don’t want to send you into a panic, love, but all this attention has given rise to a certain situation…”

“Oh? Oh!” Bobby didn’t seem too disturbed, that was a good sign, so what was he – Oh! A slight twist of the hunter’s hips and Crowley’s erection was pushing against Bobby’s, both men moaning at the delicious new friction.

Crowley threw his head back in ecstasy. He was having trouble believing this was really happening, wondering vaguely if maybe he’d been captured by a Djinn, but at this moment, he didn’t care. Lust and desire flowed through him, all he could think about was Bobby; how he was touching him, how he was accepted and how he realised he’d do anything for this man. It was overwhelming, to say the least.

What a beautiful sight that was to Bobby. He gripped Crowley tighter, rolling them both so Crowley was on his back with Bobby nestled between his legs, which were dangling off the edge of the bed.

Delighted at Bobby’s apparent ease with the situation, Crowley hooked his feet together behind Bobby’s backside, using them to pull the hunter harder against him.

“You – ungh – you sure you’ve – oh, fuck! – never done this before?” Feeling his orgasm building, Crowley found it becoming more and more difficult to think and speak coherently.

Bobby had himself propped up on his right arm, leaving his left hand free to feel the tremors coursing through Crowley at every thrust. Pants be damned, it was still so very good.

“Jus’ wingin’ it.” He panted.

“Oh, Bobby, you should ‘wing it’ more often…” With one last pant and a deep groan, Crowley came.

Bobby watched as the man under him came undone. His eyes closed, mouth open, Crowley’s face tipped Bobby over the edge, grunting his pleasure into Crowley’s neck.

They lay like that for a while, both sweaty and content, Crowley idly combing his fingers through Bobby’s hair.

Suddenly, a bang echoed through the Bunker, followed by a voice yelling, “Hey, Bobby. I’m back. Where the Hell has all the food gone?”


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Sam reunite.

Dean picked at the leftover oat biscuit, his distaste evident in the scowl. “There was enough food there to last us a month. And you used it to make this crap!?”

“Dean, what’s the big deal? I’ll go out today and get some more.”

It had been a close thing, but Bobby and Crowley had managed to escape the bedroom without Dean noticing their state. Bobby had quickly changed clothes and met Dean just outside his door, while Crowley stayed behind for a few minutes after he’d heard both men leave, before heading to the shower.

Dean looked up, staring at Bobby with a mixture of annoyance and confusion on his face. “I just don’t get it. You don’t eat this shit, so it must have been for Crowley. Which makes me wonder, why the fuck are you making feasts for Crowley?”

“It – ah – it was an apology.” Bobby admitted.

“An apology? For what?”

“Not that’s it’s any o’ your damn business, but I said somethin’. Somethin’ stupid.”

Dean laughed, “So what? You hurt his little feelings, did you?”

“Dean, you seem to forget, he’s human now.”

“No, Bobby,” Dean stood, leaning menacingly over the table, “You seem to be forgetting that he was a demon. And not just _any_ demon! The King of Hell, for fuck’s sake!”

Bobby also stood, copying Dean’s stance so they were almost nose-to-nose. “ _’Was’_ , boy. He ain’t now. And from what I heard, you weren’t far off from becoming a demon yourself-”

“You boys fighting over me again?” Crowley stood in the doorway, hands in his pockets and a smirk on his face. “You don’t have to; I’m always up for a threesome.”

Both Dean and Bobby turned red, but each for different reasons.

“Listen here, you little shi-” Dean began.

“Sam’s due in an hour.” Crowley stated plainly.

Dean stopped, “What the fuck are you talking about?” He looked at Bobby.

“Er, Sam appeared. At least, he did to Crowley.”

“Fucking Hell-”

“Don’t interrupt, idjit. Much as you seem to think it, I ain’t stupid. I asked a question only Sam would know. Crowley answered it correctly. It really is Sam.”

Crowley cleared his throat, “And he should be arriving soon. I don’t know whether or not he is strong enough yet to project his image so that you two can see him, but I do have a suggestion of how we can help facilitate, if needed.”

Dean frowned, but Bobby asked, “What do you mean, ‘facilitate’?”

“The veil is like a pocket dimension, similar to Hell in some ways, but also very different in others. Point is, I know how to create a crack – of sorts – to help him come through.”

“No.” Dean pointed at Crowley’s face, “Rule 1: No magic.”

“Dean…” Bobby began.

“No, Bobby. How do we know he’s not going to ‘crack’ Hell?”

“You really are a dunce, Squirrel.” Crowley commented dryly.

“Shut up, you. Bobby? Are you seriously listening to him?”

“Why would he open Hell? He’s part of the reason they got trapped down there in the first place. Demons are trying to _kill_ him. Plus, I’m sure I saw somethin’ in one of the Men of Letters’ files on easing transitions through the Veil…”

Ignoring Dean’s frustrated huff, Bobby pushed past Crowley and headed towards the library.

Finding the file was easy, it having already been catalogued. Bobby brought it back to the Map Room where Dean was staring daggers at Crowley, who was casually flicking through a copy of Voluptuous Asian Lovelies. Bobby placed the file on the table, carefully spreading out the important bits so everyone could see.

“I think this is what Crowley is talking about, Dean.”

With a low grunt, Dean heaved himself out of his chair and leaned over Bobby’s left shoulder to have a look. “It’s a spell, isn’t it?”

“Yes and no.” Crowley put the magazine down, but stayed in his comfortable seat. “Essentially, it weakens the wall between the two dimensions. By burning certain ingredients, a particular ‘atmosphere’ is created, allowing for easier movement between realms. There is no actual spell-casting, no words to recite.” He finally rose, coming to stand behind Bobby’s right shoulder, uncomfortably close if you asked Bobby.

Dean read the ingredients. “Looks like we’ve got everything. You’re absolutely sure it’s Sam, right Bobby?”

“Yup.”

“Alright, let’s do this.”

 

* * * * *

 

Crowley sat in a corner, arms crossed, issuing an occasional tut whenever Dean failed to start the fire in the brazier. For the ritual to work, the fire had to be started without the use of an aid to ignite – “Matches count, idjit!” – and so Dean was tasked with using the hand drill method to start the fire. Bobby, meanwhile, was collecting the many ingredients they required.

“If you think it’s so easy, Crowley, why don’t you do it!?” Dean yelled, after failing for the umpteenth time to ignite anything.

“Rule 1, mate. No magic. You counted this as magic. Now, back to it.” That smirk was going to get him killed one day.

Just then, Bobby came in, carrying a large bucket of ingredients. “Hope you two aren’t arguing again.”

“Us? No, never! We’re besties, didn’t you know?” Crowley smiled at Bobby.

“Yeah, sure you are. Now, please tell me this I didn’t forget anything.” He placed the bucket at Crowley’s feet for inspection, then headed over to help with the fire.

Much to Dean’s chagrin, Bobby managed to light the fire on his third attempt. Crowley quickly confirmed that all the ingredients were present and in the correct amounts.

The ritual itself was simple; light the ingredients in a specific order and place them in bowls in certain areas of the room. They had chosen an unused bedroom on a different floor for the ritual; a good idea, considering the amount of smoke now billowing around them. The fire itself was put out once all the ingredients had been prepared, but it had already stained the ceiling and walls grey.

“How long do we have to wait?” Dean moaned, “I think I’m getting a headache.”

“Oh, you poor baby,” teased Crowley, “You don’t have to stay. Once Sam appears, he should be okay to wander the Bunker. He’s not going to be tied to this room.”

“Oh. I guess I’ll wait, then.”

Fortunately for Dean, they didn’t have to wait long.

From within the cloud of smoke, a tentative _“Dean? Bobby?”_ was soon audible.

Dean jumped to his feet, eyes squinting through the haze pf smoke. “Sammy!? Sammy, can you hear me?”

_“Dean? Yeah, I hear you. Don’t call me Sammy. And what’s with all the smoke?”_

“We did a ritual to make it easier for you to come through. We’re in a bedroom in the bunker. Crowley says you should be okay to move around. Let’s go talk in the Map Room, okay? Less smoke there.”

Bobby and Crowley remained silent throughout the boys’ initial reunion, but trailed behind when they heard Dean’s footsteps leaving the bedroom.

The smoke followed them a little ways, but it had thinned out completely by the time they reached the upstairs hall. Dean was too excited to sit, hopping from one foot to the other like a little boy on Christmas morning. Bobby and Crowley sat in separate armchairs, patiently waiting for Sam to appear.

A flicker, and Sam did indeed appear, looking just as he had before he began the Trials. He looked sheepishly at Dean, waiting for a response.

Dean’s eyes were shining (not crying, dammit), taking in the sight of his ghostly brother.

“Sammy… Sam. Holy shit, I can’t believe you’re here.”

Sam smiled, _“It’s good to see you too, Dean.”_

“Definitely coming through stronger than before.” Crowley mused, mostly to himself, but allowing Bobby to hear.

It was almost painful to watch. These two brothers who had been through so much together, standing so close after such a long time, hearing and seeing each other, yet unable to truly embrace.

“Why did you go to Crowley?” Dean asked, trying not to let the pain show.

_“I didn’t have much of a choice, Dean. As I told him and Bobby, I think it’s because of the blood. My blood is in Crowley, so I’m drawn to him.”_

Dean cast a quick glare in Crowley’s direction. _Great_ , thought Crowley, _another reason for Squirrel to hate me._

“So, you’re stuck on Earth because of the Heaven fiasco, right?”

_“Seems that way. Bobby filled me in on the Angels. Is Cas okay?”_ Sam was wearing his concerned puppy-dog-eyes and Dean realised just how much he’d missed them.

“I don’t know. He was alive, last I heard. But he’s disappeared.”

_“I might be able to help look for him.”_

Dean’s brow furrowed, “How? Aren’t you stuck with Crowley?”

_“Er, yeah, but I’ve figured out how to communicate within the Veil. There are thousands of ghosts in there, Dean, and most of them have figured out how to reach through. I mightn’t be able to move far from Crowley, but these other ghosts are scattered all over the world. It might just work.”_

Dean’s face lit up during Sam’s speech. “Holy shit, Sam! Really!?”

_“Of course. I feel a little useless just hanging around, otherwise. I’m glad I can do something proactive.”_

“Sammy, I could hug you. Well, I can’t, but I would if I could!”

_“It’s no problem, Dean. I only ask one thing.”_

“What’s that, Sammy?”

_“Stop calling me Sammy.”_

Dean laughed, “Sure thing, Sam. Thanks. This really means a lot to me.”

Sam nodded, and disappeared.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More smut.

Crowley had sent Karl Robertson an email detailing the words (and pronunciation of said words) just over a week ago. Now he sat with headphones on, listening intently to the Enochian orders that were now beaming across the world, his tongue poking out in concentration.

There were a few minor mispronunciations, Crowley noticed, but the angels should be able to understand the basic message. Soon, Jo should find herself inundated with angels wanting to return to Heaven.  


Bobby watched from the doorway. Dean was out on yet another hunt, having quickly tired of Crowley’s shenanigans; the last straw being ‘cream’ donuts laced with mayonnaise.  


The month Bobby had spent teaching Crowley to fight was really starting to show. Crowley was leaner, without a doubt. It made him look younger. Sexier, Bobby admitted to himself.  


Crowley stretched, his shirt sleeves rising, allowing the tattooed biceps to flaunt themselves. Fuck, how was that so hot? Bobby was still finding it difficult to admit to himself exactly what he wanted to do to Crowley, and what he wanted Crowley to do to him, but he was certainly becoming more comfortable with the idea. He licked his lips, feeling himself harden slightly just thinking about it.  


“Robert? I can feel you staring at me.”  


“Might be.” Bobby stalked over to where Crowley sat, then placed his hands on the other’s shoulders and began to massage.  


“Oh, Roberrrt… you sure you want to go there?” Crowley had his eyes closed.  


Leaning in to his ear, Bobby whispered in the huskiest voice he could manage, “That’s exactly where I want to go.”  


Eyes snapping open, Crowley twisted in his chair; he had to make sure he’d heard correctly. The sight he was greeted with was similar to a previous time, but with one major difference: Bobby was smiling. More of a grin, to be honest. A grin that sent shivers of lust down Crowley’s spine.  
He swallowed, gently placed a hand on Bobby’s still on his shoulder and questioned, “You sure?”  


Bobby just grabbed Crowley’s hand, pulled him to his feet and dragged him down the hall to their room.

* * * * *

Crowley was feeling extremely self-conscious, overly aware of Bobby’s eyes on him.  
As forward as Bobby had been in getting Crowley into the bedroom, he seemed to lose all confidence once he realised what was happening. He sat on the edge of the bed, hands clenched in the blankets, just staring at Crowley, not saying a word.  


“Bobby, love, are you okay?”  


“I – er – I don’t know what to do.” Bobby admitted, quietly.  


“What do you want to do?”  


“I don’t know!” His voice was shaky, his heart beating too fast. Crowley noticed, so he grabbed Bobby around the face, making him look at Crowley directly in the eyes.  


“Bobby, look at my face, nowhere else, just my face.” Bobby’s breathing slowed. “Good. Now, we don’t have to do anything, not if you don’t want to.”  


Swallowing, Bobby muttered, “I do want to do something.”  


“Okay. What would you like? Don’t try to tell me everything. Just give me one thing. Okay?”  


“’kay.” Bobby’s eyes drifted down, but he seemed to be in control, once again, so Crowley allowed it. “I’d, um, I’d like to see you naked.”  


Crowley smiled, releasing Bobby’s face. He stepped back a few paces, to allow Bobby the best view.  


“Your wish, is my command.” He took his shirt off first, noticing Bobby’s gaze play over his tattoos as he folded the shirt and set it on a chair. “Still good?”  


Bobby nodded, mouth too dry from nerves.  


Belt, shoes and socks. Nothing too shocking there. Crowley paused at his pants, though, ever mindful of Bobby’s comfort zones.  


Bobby’s pupils were dilated, his hands still clenched at his sides, but he was certainly interested, if the obvious erection in his jeans was any sign. Following a curt nod to continue, Crowley dropped his pants.  


One of Bobby’s hands unclenched, jumping to press at his hard-on, needing the friction.  


Crowley smiled. All that and he wasn’t even fully naked yet; not that his underwear hid much of the hardened flesh he was packing himself. A deep breath, then Crowley kicked of the last piece of clothing between him and nakedness.  


Bobby was at a loss for words. He was an adult male, he’d seen plenty of penises other than his own, courtesy of porn and the show-off jocks when he was in high school. He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting, but a normal-sized, average-looking penis was not it. He blinked.  


What was that expression? Confusion, disbelief? Crowley looked down at himself, desperately wondering what was so surprising. Everything appeared normal, from this angle…  


“What?” He had to know. “What’s wrong?”  


Bobby gave an unwilling snort of laughter. What the fuck!?  


“I’m sorry, Crowley. It’s jus’- with all the rumours of why you sold your soul, I kinda expected something-”  


“Larger?”  


“Yeah.” Bobby blushed, quickly adding, “I ain’t sayin’ it’s small! Jus’- it’s normal lookin’.”  


“Bloody Hell, Bobby, I thought I’d mutated or something!”  


“Sorry.”  


Silence.  


“Um, feeling a little under-dressed here, love.”  


“Oh, right. Yeah.” Bobby stood, stripping himself of his shirts, boots and socks before Crowley could say anything.  


“Hey, slow down there!” Crowley complained. “May I?” He stepped closer to Bobby, setting his hands on the hunter’s hips.  


“Er, yeah, sure.” Not sure what to do with his hands, he just placed them on Crowley’s shoulders as the other man lowered himself to his knees.  


Dexterous fingers made quick work of the belt, whipping it through the loops with a crack. Crowley’s face was almost pressed against Bobby’s lower stomach as the jeans were pulled down. Hot breathe ghosted above the top of Bobby’s boxers, before they too were dragged down. Bobby kicked them off, glancing down to see Crowley grinning up at him through his eyelashes, tongue poking out teasingly between his teeth. Bobby’s dick twitched at the sight.  


Crowley ‘hmm’-ed curiously at the twitch. Deciding to test Bobby’s comfort a little, he tilted his head to the side and breathed out of his mouth and onto Bobby’s cock, ensuring Bobby was watching.  


“Holy fucking shit…” Bobby’s legs failed and he staggered backwards onto the bed.  


What a wonderful vision. Bobby flustered and horny, spread out on the bed, his body seemed to scream for Crowley to ravish it.  


Licking his lips, Crowley said, “Bobby, I’d like to do something. If you don’t want me to, just say stop, and I will.”  


Bobby raised his head enough to see Crowley between his legs, eyeing the engorged cock in front of him with something akin to hunger.  


Noticing Bobby was watching, Crowley grinned and, without warning, licked Bobby from root to tip.  


Throwing his head back with a groan, Bobby hadn’t recovered before wet heat surrounded his privates. His hips bucked instinctively and Crowley hummed, sending twangs of pleasure through Bobby. Crowley had to press Bobby’s hips down to prevent the man from accidentally choking him; death by dick was not a gracious way to go.  


Sucking for all he was worth, Crowley added a hand to Bobby’s base to compensate for what he couldn’t take in his mouth. He raised his gaze, resolute on watching his hunter come undone. Bobby was clenching and unclenching the blankets in his fists, chest heaving, struggling to not go over the edge too soon. A mixture of almost-words and assorted noises were spilling from his mouth.  


“Oh, fuck! Gah – Crow- shit! Unng, don’t sto-ah!-op… Fuuuck…”  


When he couldn’t take any more, Bobby’s right hand found its way to the back of Crowley’s neck, groaning Crowley’s name as he came.  


Crowley moaned around Bobby’s pulsing member, swallowing every spurt down his throat. Once sure Bobby was done, Crowley withdrew, giving the head one last little lick, making Bobby quiver, overstimulated. He was almost at that point himself, even though he’d barely touched his own erection. Leaning back on his heels, he took himself in hand, but was surprised when Bobby slid off the bed and hesitantly reached out to help.  


“Sure?” Crowley found himself asking.  


“Wouldn’t be offering if I wasn’t.”  


Crowley removed his own hand, watching with heavy lids as Bobby shyly ran one finger along his length.  


It wasn’t quite the same as touching his own, Bobby decided. Crowley wasn’t quite as long as Bobby was, but he was certainly thicker, and the texture came as a bit of a surprise too. Crowley was silky, there was no other way Bobby could think of to describe it. Soft and supple skin surrounding the hardened organ beneath.  


With a renewed determination, Bobby changed strategy from a curious finger to a solid grip.  


“Oh, whoah!” Crowley croaked out.  


Beginning a steady pace with his left hand, Bobby manoeuvred so he was sitting on the floor beside Crowley, legs spread with the other man kneeling between them. His right arm was resting on his knee, both acting as a sort of backrest for Crowley.  


With Crowley already so close to the edge, all Bobby had to do was run his thumb over Crowley’s slit, and the man was shuddering through his orgasm, bucking frantically into Bobby’s hand.  


Crowley collapsed against Bobby’s chest, still shivering and moaning through the last spasms.  


A subtle smile tugging at his lips, Bobby helped a weak-limbed Crowley onto the bed, laying himself behind and admiring Crowley’s blissful post-coital expression. The damned idjit was simply too adorable; his hair stuck to his forehead, his eyes were closed and he was still breathing heavily through cupid’s bowed lips.  


“Mmm, that was brilliant, love.” Crowley slurred, sleep taking over, “Tens across the board…”  


Bobby gave Crowley a kiss on the temple, cuddled him closer and settled in for a good nap.


	16. Chapter 16

Dean returned with a hollered, “Hey, Bobby!” early, the following Tuesday. “C’mere, I got someone I’d like you to meet – again. Ish.”  


Bobby was back into cataloguing, currently working through Aztec Gods known to exist. He’d barely entered the Map Room before a mass of red hair engulfed him.  


“The Hell?” He asked, bewildered.  


“Bobby, meet Charlie. Don’t know what you remember from when you were a ghost, but you kinda met her then.”  


The hair retreated and Bobby finally got a look at the person it belonged to. The woman was staring intently at Bobby, beaming, clearly expecting him to remember her. Wearing a t-shirt with a quote Bobby recognised from Star Wars on it, green skinny-jeans and purple combat boots, she was nearly jumping with excitement.  


“I – uh – I’m sorry, I don’t remember any of that…”  


Charlie didn’t seem to care, jumping towards Bobby and grabbing him in another hug.  


“That’s alrighty, you saved my life and I’m not going to ever forget that! Sure, my arm was broke in the process but I’d rather a broken arm than a broken neck, if you catch my drift?”  


“Er, yeah.” Bobby looked at Dean over her shoulder, clearly hoping for an explanation, an exit – something, anything to get this hyper woman off him.  


“Bobby, Charlie here is a genius.”  


Charlie whirled around, freeing Bobby, to give Dean a bashful smile, “Oh, stop it, you.”  


“It’s true. Charlie can do anything with a computer, and I mean anything. Hacking, programming, you name it, she can probably do it. She helped us infiltrate Dick Roman’s organisation. Thought she might take a look at the machines around the Bunker. I’m pretty sure they’re computers.”  


“Hacking?” Bobby remembered something. “Charlie, do you know Sheriff Jody Mills?”  


“A-yup! Hunter connections, you know the drill.”  


“I think she gave me your email. Said you could set me and Crowley up with ID’s.”  


“Wait, Crowley? As in _Crowley_ Crowley? King of the Crossroads, Crowley?”  


“Charlie’s read Chuck’s books.” Dean explained.  


“Great. Yes, that Crowley. I thought Dean would’ve told you everything.” Bobby gave Dean a menacing stare.  


“Might’ve forgotten about that little detail.”  


Bobby huffed, “Sam cured Crowley to close the Gates of Hell. So Crowley’s human now and living here in the Bunker.”  


“Oh. Huh.” Charlie scuffed her boots against the floor.  


“Come on, Charlie, I’ll show you the machines.” Dean grabbed Charlie’s wrist and dragged her down the hall.  


“Nice to meet you again, Bobby!” She managed to call, before rounding the corner.  


Back to the cataloguing then.  


Meanwhile, Crowley was in the gun range. He was surprised Dean hadn’t included it as an out-of-bounds area. Not that he was going to say anything; it’d probably be rectified pretty damn quickly and Crowley wanted to use it. He’d improved reasonably quickly, considering he was trying to teach himself. The target was now being consistently hit, at least. Being able to hit what you were aiming for seemed a pretty good skill to have for a hunter-in-training, which was what Crowley saw himself as. Sure, Dean and Bobby hadn’t mentioned him joining them in a hunt, but he had at least admitted to himself that he wasn’t going to have the luxury of living a normal life, and like Hell was he going to stay locked up in the Bunker the rest of his life.  


Satisfied with his progress, Crowley put away all the gear and headed upstairs to torment Bobby. Heading past one of what Dean called ‘control rooms’, Crowley heard a feminine voice scream “Sweet Ada Lovelace!”  


Peeking into the room the voice had come from, Crowley saw a red-haired girl tenderly stroking one of the machines, and a very confused looking Dean watching. Dean spotted Crowley, and with a glare and a shake of the head, sent the nosy man away.  


“Bobby, there’s a strange girl taking apart computers in a control room. You know her?”  


Looking up from a detailed analysis of werewolf mating cycles, Bobby nodded, “Apparently, I do. Her name’s Charlie, helped deal with Dick Roman.”  


“Ah, yes. Dick.”  


“You here for somethin’? Where exactly is it you disappear to, anyway? Should I be worried?” Bobby narrowed his eyes in suspicion.  


“You need not worry about me, darling, I can take care of myself.”  


“It ain’t you I’m worried about.”  


Crowley put a hand against his chest in mock offense, “Robert, are you implying I get up to mischief?”  


“I ain’t implying anything. I know for a fact that you ‘get up to mischief’. Still haven’t figured out who half my contacts are!”  


What a perfect segue, Crowley thought. “Speaking of hunters and the things that they do, I’ve been doing a bit of digging and found a perfect opportunity for us to get back into the swing of things.”  


“What swing of things? What’re you talking about?”  


“A job, Singer. Hunting. You, me and a couple of boomsticks. What do you say?” Crowley grinned.  


“I say you must be completely out of your mind!” Bobby stood up to better intimidate the idjit before him. “What the Hell got this fool idea into your head?”  


Taken aback by Bobby’s reaction, Crowley tried to explain, “I- I’ve been practicing in the gun range. I’m a decent shot. I thought you’d like to bash a few monster heads in.”  


“Crowley, I’m too old to hunt.”  


“What a load of bollocks!”  


“I haven’t hunted for years! I’m just the phone guy. The person hunters call when they want lore dug up, or- or a fake FBI boss to make the cops go away.”  


“You’re more than that, Bobby, and you know it.”  


“Still don’t change that fact that I’m too damn old!”  


“Will you just hear me out, please?” Crowley pleaded.  


Bobby sighed, collapsing back onto his chair. “Fine.”  


Pulling printed news reports out of various pockets, Crowley fanned them out on the table in front of Bobby.  


“See here,” Crowley pointed at the oldest article, a short side-column piece, “This is the earliest evidence I’ve found of the creature.”  


Bobby picked up the clipping, trying to get a better look. It read:

_**Cattle deaths said to be caused by feral dogs**  
Experts have concluded that the deaths of beef cattle from multiple farms were a result of a pack of wild dogs or coyotes. Residents of the area are urged to contact Animal Control regarding sightings of the pack._

“Cattle deaths?” Bobby frowned, “If they had been mutilated, I could see how it relates to us, but it doesn’t seem like a case to me.”  


“The newspaper didn’t publish all of the information, Robert.”  


“So, what’d they leave out?”  


“Radiation. According to an inside source, the area around the carcasses was highly irradiated, and it was spreading. The remains were burned on the spot, and the radiation levels returned to normal in a couple of days.”  


Bobby skimmed the remaining articles. The deaths seemed to be heading into the city. The cattle deaths were on the outskirts, then horses were found, followed by pets and finally a human. All deaths were blamed on the “feral dog pack” but each time, Crowley claimed, the area around the body was highly irradiated.  


“Who, or what, exactly is your ‘source’?” asked Bobby.  


“Believe it or not, I have useful contacts other than demons. The coroner that performed the autopsy on the human victim; she and I were… friends.”  


“Friends?”  


“Yes, Robert. Friends. I had friends. Anyway, she noticed abnormalities in the human and did some digging.”  


Crowley was beaming, clearly excited at the prospect of a hunt. It was easy to get bored in the Bunker; Bobby was starting to get a bit stir-crazy himself.  


“Alright. Since you’re so keen on it.”  


Crowley gave Bobby a quick peck on the cheek, as thanks.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hunt begins!

Crowley had wanted to leave that day, but Bobby insisted they get him a new suit and allow Charlie to organise their ID’s.

“How’d they turn out?” Crowley wanted to know.

“Great!” Charlie declared, handing each ID to the appropriate owner. “That suit really _suits_ you. Heh. Sorry.” Charlie was clearly uncomfortable around Crowley, but Bobby had to give her credit for at least trying to be friendly. Crowley himself seemed utterly indifferent to the girl.

Looking at his own ID, Bobby was surprised at how professional it appeared. Charlie had forced him to have multiple photos taken as he had a habit of blinking at the wrong time.

“Alright, looks like you two are all set to go off on your grand adventure!”

“Bobby, you sure about this?” Dean was standing apart from the group; Bobby had almost forgotten he was there. “I can still come along, if you want.”

“Nah, Dean, don’t sweat it. I’m not even sure if it’s an actual case.” Bobby said, ignoring Crowley’s cranky face.

“We’ll be back before you know it, Squirrel.”

“You’d better not hurt him, Crowley. I swear I will hunt you down if he doesn’t come back in one piece.”

“Grow up. If I’d wanted to kill Robert, he’d already be dead.”

Bobby stepped between them just as Dean took a step towards Crowley. He turned his stony gaze on Dean, “Back off, boy. I can take care of myself.”

Raising his hands in defeat, Dean gave Crowley one last glare before stomping off into the depths of the Bunker.

After a short bout of awkwardness, Charlie broke the silence, “Well, _I_ at least hope you two have fun.”

“Hunting isn’t usually fun, Charlie, but I appreciate the thought. Thanks.” Bobby said.

“Um, before you head off, I have to ask; does Dean know?”

“Does Dean know what?”

“You know, about you two?” Charlie raised an eyebrow and winked. Both men were stunned.

Voice lowered, Bobby asked, “How’d _you_ know about it?”

“Oh, please. I’m not blind. I can see how you two look at each other – the eyes give away the RST - not to mention how you stuck up for Crowley.”

“RST?”

“Resolved Sexual Tension.” Charlie grinned at the utter embarrassment on Bobby’s face.

Crowley just smirked, “C’mon, loverboy, let’s head off before Charlie spills any more secrets.”

“Please don’t tell Dean…” Bobby begged as Crowley dragged him to the garage to pick a car.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Bobby. Not my place. See you ‘round.”

 

* * * * *

 

“Oh, that is _rank_!” Screwing up his face in disgust, Crowley decided he’d supervise from a distant corner.

Bobby, meanwhile, was trying not to vomit as he examined the corpse. “Thought you’d be used to it, Crowley,” he said, leaning closer to inspect the wounds.

“I dealt with living souls, Robert, not decaying bodies.” Pinching his nose so as to avoid the stench, Crowley inched slightly closer. “It shouldn’t be that decomposed yet, should it?”

“Nope. You’re right there. Come have a look at this.” Bobby pointed to a section of the body’s chest. Reluctantly, Crowley sidled up next to Bobby. “They look like dog bites to you?”

“Yes, but… I’ve seen plenty of dog bites, courtesy of my poor Hounds, and I can tell you now, whatever caused _that_ wasn’t a pack. It was alone, and it was big.”

“Werewolf?”

“Bigger.”

“So, it’s big, dog-like and possibly radioactive. Great.”

 

* * * * *

 

The forest on the edge of a suburban block was where the latest human victim was found. A teenager, torn apart and faintly irradiated, was bagged and placed into a lead-lined box for transportation to the morgue. Night was beginning to fall, shadows and noises creating a disturbing atmosphere.

Bobby and Crowley watched from a distance, the local Sheriff with them.

“Apparently, the radiation levels are dropping at each successive kill.” Sheriff Stark explained, “No one knows why, but I’ll take good news where I can get it.”

“It’s been claimed to be a feral dog pack,” Crowley said, “but have any reports been made to substantiate that?”

The Sheriff narrowed his eyes at Crowley, “You’re an FBI agent?”

“Yes.”

“An English FBI agent?”

“Yes,” Crowley huffed, impatient, “Believe it or not, people can travel, and I have experience that the Bureau values. Now, could you please answer my question?”

Bobby suppressed a snicker; everywhere they went, Crowley was interrogated about his accent.

“Fine. There haven’t been any sightings, per say, but there have been prints found at several locations. They looked like dog-tracks, but bigger. I reckon they’re just some kids’ idea of a joke. There’s nothin’ that big out here.”

“Could it have been a bear?” Bobby questioned.

“Not likely. No bears round these parts.”

“What about the radiation? Any theory on that?”

“I dunno. Maybe it’s some mutant coyote, or something. Now, if you don’t mind, I have a bunch of paperwork to complete.”

Bobby smiled thinly, “Of course. Thank you for your help.”

The Sheriff marched off to his vehicle, evidently pleased to finally leave the depressing crime scene.

“So, any ideas, Robert?”

“Not yet. Let’s have a closer look at where the body was found.”

The site was down an embankment, near a slowly running stream. Crowley cringed as his new shoes and the hems of his pants were caked in mud.

“Had to be in the bloody countryside, didn’t it?” he complained, feeling an odd sort of satisfaction when he managed to leave a muddy shoe-print on the seat of Bobby’s pants without him realising.

“I can’t see anything here.” Bobby griped. He pointed along the stream, “You check that way, meet back here in 15 minutes. Call me if you find anything important.” He tossed a flashlight to Crowley before heading off in the opposite direction.

Crowley had been given a spare cell, after Bobby found he had no memory left on his; Crowley had apparently downloaded every single free puzzle game he could find. Using a password had no effect, Crowley found his way into Bobby’s phone no matter what he did or where he hid it.

Back in the woodland, Crowley was carefully testing the ground ahead of him before taking each step, grumbling all the while.

“Bloody hunters and their bloody mucky jobs. This was a new suit, damn it!”

**_CRAAACK!_ **

Stopping dead in his tracks and turning off the flashlight, Crowley scanned the tree-line. That wasn’t the sound of a twig snapping, that was the sound of a large branch being ripped from a tree. There was something there, a shadow that didn’t belong.

Nothing had jumped out at him, so Crowley assumed that whatever it was, it hadn’t noticed him. He crept as quietly as possible to the shrubbery and peered through branches.

Yes. There it was. He couldn’t make out the details, but the creature was massive. As large as an elephant, easily. Low growling and snuffling could be heard, reminding Crowley of his lost Hellhounds.

Clouds parted, moonlight shining through the leaves. It didn’t help much, but it was enough for Crowley.

“Cerberus?”


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The hunt continues...  
> I re-wrote this chapter so many times, unhappy with how it unfolded. Still iffy about it.

Bobby had just begun the walk back to the crime scene when his cell rang.

“Crowley. You find something?”

 _“You could say that…”_ Heavy breathing from the other end indicated Crowley had either been running or gotten into a fight.

“What do you mean? Where are you, and why are you puffing?”

_“I’m – uh – up a tree. I found our little beastie.”_

“What!? What is it? Are you okay?”

_“For now. It’s Cerby – er, Cerberus. I guess he got locked out of Hell too.”_

“Cerberus? As in the giant three-headed bouncer of Hades?” Listening carefully, Bobby could hear growls and barks over the cell.

_“Spot on, Singer. He remembers me, isn’t that nice?”_

“If he remembers you, why’re you in a tree?”

_“He… he was the one Hound I couldn’t control. Although, technically, he’s not a Hellhound. He’s a different breed altogether. I… used him to sire my tougher Hounds. There’s a spell you can use to send him back to the Gates. Won’t lock him inside, but it’ll buy us some time.”_

“You’re near him, why don’t you do it?” Bobby reached their planned meeting place then continued on, following Crowley’s still clear tracks.

_“Because you need to touch him!”_

“Come again? What makes you think I’m gonna touch that thing?”

 _“He’s distracted trying to get me! If I tried, I’d lose an arm! Hurry up, Bobby!”_ Crowley was becoming frantic, fear audible in his quivering voice.

Bobby was close enough to hear Crowley’s yells without needing the phone. Following the shouts and barks, he came across what seemed to be a resting spot for hikers. What would normally have been an idyllic place was mostly taken up by an enormous dog. It was on its hind legs, all three heads reaching for the terrified ex-demon desperately clinging on to a branch of an American elm, just out of its reach.

“Crowley! What’s the spell!?” The beast completely ignored Bobby, for which he was immensely grateful.

“Revertere unde venistis Cerberus! Then you touch it! Doesn’t matter where, but please hurry up!”

Repeating the words, Bobby slapped one hand against Cerberus’ flank. It was over in less than ten seconds.

Watching as Crowley shakingly made his way down from the tree, Bobby asked, “How’d you get up there, anyway?”

With a thump as he landed, Crowley replied, “You’d be surprised what you’re able to do when you’re being chased by a giant three-headed dog with a grudge.” He dusted himself off.

“How long we got ‘til it comes back?”

“About two days, assuming he came topside near the first killing.”

“Can we kill it?”

“I… don’t know.”

“Guess we’d best head back to the hotel. Start research tomorrow.”

 

* * * * *

 

“Let’s get a look at you, then.”

“I’m fine, Robert. No need to make a fuss.” Crowley tried to swat at Bobby, but only succeeded in tearing at a wound and grimacing.

“Yeah, you look ‘fine’. If you don’t treat your wounds, they’ll end up infected. Now take off your shirt.”

“Oh, trying to take advantage of me in my weakened state, are you, Robert?” Crowley smirked. Couldn’t be too badly hurt, then.

Bobbly glared. “Take it off, so I can see if you need stitches.”

Slowly, and with much complaining, Crowley managed to peel the tattered and muddied remnants of his shirt from his body.

Bobby shook his head. “You need a shower. I can’t see a damn thing under all that muck.”

With a sly grin, Crowley admitted, “Yes, I could definitely use a shower. But, Robert, love, I may need your help in there. After all, I can’t be expected to be able to reach everywhere in my current state.” He winked, licking his lips for good measure as he watched Bobby blush.

“If you’re in such pain, Crowley, maybe I should take you to the hospital. You can get a nice sponge-bath, there.”

“Oh, like you wouldn’t be jealous, having someone else bathe me.”

“Just shut up, idjit.”

With the mixture of mud and blood spiralling down the drain, Bobby was finally able to ascertain the amount of damage done to the former demon. Scratches covered almost his entire body, most shallow but others were quite deep, a result of frantically running through brambles and climbing the tree. The one injury that concerned Bobby was the bite on Crowley’s ankle. It seemed that one of the beast’s heads had managed to grab hold of Crowley as he’d made his way up the tree. The initial puncture was just behind and above the ankle, but Crowley had managed to tear his leg from the beast’s grasp, creating a larger wound in the process.

Crowley was sitting down, leaning against one wall with his injured leg out to one side so Bobby could inspect it easier. He was naked, unlike Bobby, who had donned an old pair of swimming trunks in an attempt to prevent Crowley from becoming too distracted. It worked to a degree.

“Why are you wearing clothes in the shower, Robert? It’s not like I haven’t seen-” Crowley eyed Bobby’s crotch, biting his bottom lip, “-everything.”

“Cos I know what’d happen,” Bobby sighed. The last of the dirt swirled away, leaving only the slowly seeping blood.

“If you’re so sure something would happen, why resist the inevitable?” Crowley smirked, lifting a hand to gently stroke against Bobby’s bicep.

“Out you hop. Time to disinfect and stitch up your bigger wounds.” Bobby stood and walked over to the medicine cabinet to retrieve the necessary items.

Crowley hobbled to the chair next to the basin, trying to hide his wince as he collapsed onto it.

“Kay, Crowley,” Bobby made a show of snapping on rubber gloves, a grin on his face that Crowley would’ve likened to a demon about to torture, “lean to one side and prop yer foot on my knee.” He knelt on one knee, leaving the other as Crowley’s footrest.

“If you even think about tickling me- Aaaah! Bloody Hell!” Crowley swore the antiseptic stung worse than the original bite. He gripped the sides of chair, jaw clenched tight.

“Hmm,” Bobby proceeded with his work, easily ignoring the growls and moans – he’d looked after many of the boys’ injuries, after all. “Looks like there’s some slight radiation burns around the edges.”

With a soothing cream and hydrogel bandage applied on his ankle wound, as well as a few stitches for some other injuries, Crowley reclined on the cool sheets of the King-sized bed.

“You move from that bed, I’ll give you something to really worry about.”

“I appreciate your nursing, Robert, but your bedside manner leaves much to be desired.”

Bobby rolled his eyes, but laid down next to Crowley. “So, you got any ideas on how to get rid of Cerberus for good?”

“He was created to guard the Underworld and later, the Gates of Hell. Plenty of demons tried to get past him, kill him, trick him, but none succeeded.”

“Hold on, if he guards the Gates, how’d you an’ other demons get out?”

“I should specify; Cerberus guarded the Gates that allow souls to enter Hell. There were other openings; all made after he was placed. Cerberus was told: Only the dead may enter, and none shall leave.”

“So when Sam closed the Gates…?”

Crowley smiled thinly, “Yes, that included the other doors.”

“No, Crowley, I’m talking about the souls. Are the damned also trapped in the veil?”

“Nah. Angels don’t need the doors to get to Hell; souls damned because of their sins and not because of a deal will continue to be escorted by Reapers.”

Bobby scratched at his forehead, deep in thought. “Wait, how are the bought souls getting to Hell?”

“My Hounds, of course.”

“They don’t need a doorway?”

“Course not,” Crowley scoffed, “They don’t have souls; at least, not of the sort that needs a doorway.” Talk of Hell was beginning to bore Crowley, and he expressed that by walking two fingers along Bobby’s thigh and across his chest.

“Crowley…”

“Mmm. Yes, love?”

“If you’ve got nothin’ useful to say, go to sleep.”


	19. Chapter 19

Bobby decided he liked researching with Crowley. Used to doing all the lore work himself, it was refreshing to have someone else with whom to share thoughts and ideas. Sure, he’d had the occasional help from the boys (mostly Sam) and even Rufus had turned up a few hints, but they’d each had their own method of researching, which often clashed with Bobby’s and slowed the work.

Crowley had nabbed the comfiest seat in the hotel room (claiming his injury gave him rights to it), a massive pile of books on his left within easy reach. Bobby rotated amongst the remaining chairs, getting up every now and then to stretch his legs. They’d spent the last nine hours like that, searching for a clue as to how to permanently rid Earth of Cerberus.

With a yawn, Crowley slammed shut his current tome, dust billowing from its pages, “Doesn't seem to be any helpful information in town, Robert.”

Bobby grunted. He knew it had been a long shot, but what else could they do?

“I do have one idea, though,” Crowley continued, “As I said before, Cerberus was created to guard the Underworld, not Hell.”

“Ain’t it the same thing?”

“Yes and no. The Underworld is older, and whereas Hell takes only those who’ve committed sins – or sold their soul – the Underworld house the good, the bad and the ugly. They are separated, of course, but it’s still all under one big roof.”

“So what makes a soul go to the Underworld instead of Heaven or Hell?”

“It’s a matter of beliefs, or in the case of Atheists and Agnostics, heritage and culture. You won’t find a Neopagan with a Christian afterlife, for example.”

“Right. So, what? What’s your big plan?”

“We summon Hades.”

The silence that followed Crowley’s announcement could have been cut with a knife. Disbelief was etched on Bobby’s face in the form of risen eyebrows and a slack jaw. Soon enough, he regained his wits.

“Are you fuckin’ nuts!?”

“What?”

“You want to summon the God of the Underworld? How is that even remotely a good idea!?”

“He’s a good bloke, actually.”

“He- what?”

“Hades. I know him. In fact, he owes me a favour so…”

“How- Do I want to know?”

“No, you don’t. But, he’s our best bet.”

Bobby growled, before grunting “Fine. What do we need?”

“Thought you’d see it my way, love. But I – uh – I think we may need to head back to the bunker for some of the items.”

“Dean’ll love that. C’mon, then. ‘Spose it’ll give us some more time, though, guess that’s a good thing.”

 

* * * * *

 

Bobby and Crowley had only just entered the tunnel to the Bunker’s garage when they were almost blinded by the headlights of Dean’s Impala. There was a brief moment of stillness as each man regained his senses, before Dean leaned out a window.

“The Hell, Bobby!? Don’t you know how to answer your damn phone!?”

Bobby frowned, looking from Dean to Crowley, who shrugged and reached into Bobby’s pocket to pull out his phone.

13 missed calls. Oops.

Everyone having gathered in the Map Room, Dean began his rant.

“Seriously, Bobby, d’you know how worried I’ve been? Why didn’t you answer your phone? You could’ve been dead, for all I knew! Especially with Crowley as your backup!”

“Oi! I’m right here, you know.” Crowley grumbled.

“Dean-” Bobby began.

“I don’t want you hunting with just him. I’m coming along too, from now on.”

“Dean, wou-”

“I don’t know what I-”

“Dean! Would you shut your damned mouth for one second!?”

Dean shut his mouth, stunned.

“Thank you,” Bobby said, “Now look, I’m sorry I didn’t answer your calls; we’ve been a bit preoccupied with the hunt, an’ we ain’t finished yet.”

“What do you mean? What was it?”

“It’s Cerberus.”

“Cerby-what now?”

“Cerberus. From Greek mythology. It’s a giant three-headed Hellhound-”

“Technically, not a Hellhound,” Crowley pointed out.

Bobby nodded, “Right. Well, some sort of demonic dog. Guards the Underworld, and apparently Hell too.”

“Guessing you haven’t ganked it, yet.”

“Nah. Not sure if we can, either. But we may be able to lock it back up.” It would be easier to let Crowley explain the plan, but Dean would of course be sceptical knowing it was in fact Crowley’s plan and not Bobby’s. They’d discussed the issue during the trip back of how best to approach Dean.

“So, what is it? A spell?”

“A summoning spell.”

“Let me get this straight. You need to summon… something, in order to send this dog-thing back to Hell? Who – or what – are you going to summon?”

“Hades.”

Dean’s face was blank. Idjit. “Hades is the Lord of the Underworld. Sometimes referred to as a God or King.”

“Thought Crowley was the ‘King of the Underworld’?” Dean asked sarcastically.

“King of _Hell_ , you ignorant twat.” Crowley hissed, straightening to his full (somewhat short) height and glaring at Dean. Once again, Bobby placed himself between the two angry men.

“Anyway,” Bobby continued, “Hades may be the only one able to lock the beast back up.”

“You know what you need?”

“Should have everything in the storeroom.”

“Hmph. You can summon him in the clearing out back. I’ll keep an eye on Crowley.”

“I’ll need Crowley with me.”

“What the fuck for?”

Crowley answered, “I have experience negotiating, Squirrel, as you well know.”

“I’m still keeping an eye on him. I definitely don’t trust him around this God of the Underworld.”

“Fine.” _Prick_ , thought Crowley

“Fine.” _Arsehole_ , thought Dean.

 

* * * * *

 

Crowley sat on a tree stump, once again declaring himself supervisor as Dean and Bobby did all the actual work.

Make the circle large,” he advised, “If it’s too small, he’ll be offended and you _really_ don’t want to do that.”

“I don’t _want_ to summon this guy in the first place,” Dean muttered, adding the last touches to a ground symbol.

“Jus’ shut up an’ do your damn job, Dean.” Bobby paced around the clearing, re-reading the words Crowley had written on a piece of paper.

“It’s already done.” Dean brushed the dirt off his jeans, then headed to his designated position, ready for the ritual.

Bobby turned to Crowley, “You sure this’ll work?”

“No, but it’s the only chance we have.” Taking his place around the circle, Crowley gave Bobby a thin smile, “Let’s begin. Remember, don’t move from your positions.”

The moment Bobby began to recite the spell, the wind around them began to rise. Soon, they were surrounded by what could only be likened to a tornado, the clearing seeming to be the eye. A large branch which had been lying at the edge of the treeline hurtled towards Bobby’s position, before hitting an invisible wall and diverting elsewhere.

Bobby finished the spell.

In the centre of the summoning circle stood a figure. It was robed, that much Bobby could tell. Thinking Dean might be able to see more from his position, Bobby shot him a questioning glance. Dean was leaning to his left, trying to see what was under the hood, when he spotted Bobby’s face. A shrug and a shake of his head let Bobby know that he couldn’t see the damned thing either. Crowley remained in his position, eyes cast downwards and body relaxed, as though waiting for something.

“Crowl-” Bobby began.

Suddenly, the robed being was in Bobby’s face, allowing the hunter to finally see what it was he had called to Earth. “You are the one who dare summon me!?”

Two shots rang out and Bobby’s shotgun disappeared into the surrounding storm. Bobby himself clawed at the inhuman hands that held him four feet off the ground.

Crowley sighed, “Lord Hades?”

“That voice… I know that voice.” The figure dropped the elder hunter, turning instead to the former demon.

“Crowley. What an unpleasant surprise.” Hades reached up with skeletal fingers to lower his hood, revealing a bald, skull-like head, the stretched skin bearing a sickly green tinge. “I see you have… changed… since we last met. Seems Abaddon wasn’t lying. How curious.”

As a demon, Crowley had beheld the visage of Hades without fear, but as a mortal, the power which the god held hit Crowley full-force. He couldn’t hold his own against Hades any longer. Pale pupil-less eyes pierced through him, the mists of the grave emanating from Hades wrapped around Crowley in a clammy cloak of death. He felt numb.

“I – uh – We know where Cerberus is.”

“You do? Interesting. Where?”

“Well, I don’t know this very second-” The mist surrounding Crowley’s throat became solid, tendrils tightening, threatening to crush his windpipe.

“I suggest you don’t waste my time, Crowley,” Hades chided, “You may be human, but I have this _feeling_ that you wouldn’t be destined for Heaven if I were to choke the life out of you.”

“Cerberus is hunting Crowley.” This revelation came from Bobby, who had managed to recover from Hades attentions.

“Is he now?” The tendrils around Crowley’s throat receded, Hades focus back on the older hunter. “Thought he had better taste than that.” He chuckled to himself.

“Before getting Crowley’s scent, he’d killed two people, and many animals.”

“He gets hungry.” Hades shrugged.

“He doesn’t belong here.”

“That’s true, but why should I care what _you_ want? You shot me. Twice.”

“To be fair, Lord Hades,” Crowley protested meekly, “He also shot me when we first met. It’s his way of greeting… people.” The last word was a whisper.

“Be that as it may, what is it you expect me to do?” Hades hissed at Crowley, mists rising up threateningly.

“Nothing.”

Dean coughed.

“That is to say, Lord Hades, we only require a way to send Cerberus back to the Underworld.”

“Why can’t he take the mutt back himself?” Dean mumbled, “It’s his damn dog.”

With a wave of a hand, the mists of Hades had Dean in their grasp. He writhed in the air, but made no sound.

“If I killed every idiotic human who disrespected me, there’d be no one left.” Hades explained to the remaining two, “And I must admit, I find humans somewhat entertaining. On occasion.”

Once again addressing Crowley, “I will provide you with the means to return Cerberus to me; the souls are getting rather too uppity without him.”

From beneath his cloak, Hades withdrew a small vial of silvery liquid and a folded piece of parchment. “You will need to poison his next meal. Should be interesting, considering he’s hunting you. Once he’s unconscious, you will need to carve the symbol on the parchment onto his skin. When that is done, all you need to do is touch the symbol and repeat the spell that you used to send him away the first time. I’m assuming you used the Returning spell, otherwise you would not be here today.”

“Yes. Thank you, Lord Hades.”

Hades sneered, “My debt is repaid. Do not call on me again.” And he disappeared.

The mists carrying Dean subsided, dropping the man onto the hard ground. Bobby hurried over to help, while Crowley watched the outside winds dissipate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut coming up in the next chapter. =)


	20. Smut *optional

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut. And lots of it.  
> I can't believe I wrote so much dirty stuff.  
> Contains pretty much no plot.  
> Oh, and also reached 666 hits! Thankyou everyone!

Crowley had been quiet. It worried Bobby, especially as usually he couldn’t get the man to shut up. After Bobby had helped both Dean and Crowley hobble back into the Bunker, Crowley had thrown himself onto his bed (in his room, which concerned Bobby even more), and stared at the vial of poison while he spun it in his fingers.

Bobby sat on the end of the bed, having excused himself from Dean’s bedside moaning to change Crowley’s bandages.

“You’re scared,” Bobby stated plainly.

Crowley’s eyes shifted to Bobby; he didn’t seem angry, as Bobby had thought he would be after being accused of being afraid. Instead, he met briefly Bobby’s gaze before returning to the vial, remaining silent. It was as close to admitting fear that Crowley would ever come.

“’s alright, ya know,” Bobby continued, “to be scared. It proves you’re human.”

Crowley snorted, “That’s the problem though. I’m human. What if I die? You heard Hades; I’m going back to the Rack.” He shivered, memories trying to push their way to the surface.

“You ain’t goin’ back to Hell, because I ain’t gonna let ya,” Bobby argued, shuffling up the bed so he could comfort Crowley. “We’re gonna throw that damn dog back where it belongs, and if anyone or anything tries to take you to Hell, they’re gonna have to go through me.” The last sentence was growled out with so much conviction, Crowley almost couldn’t help but feel sorry for anything that stood between Crowley and his hunter.

“I don’t deserve you, Robert.” He said it with a smile, but the inner turmoil was audible to Bobby, whether Crowley was aware of it or not.

“Like Hell you don’t,” Bobby plucked the vial from Crowley’s fingers, setting it on the bedside table before placing a hand on either side of Crowley’s face. His jaw was rougher than usual, dark stubble scratching Bobby’s palms. It didn’t bother him too much; it’d be a bit hypocritical of him after all, what with his beard. He leant in for a kiss.

It started out gentle, lips barely touching as they shared breath and wistful glances. They’d spent a lot of time together over the past few weeks, slowly exploring each other, but never venturing out of Bobby’s comfort zone. The time Crowley spent in the shower lengthened; he didn’t want to frighten Bobby off with the knowledge of exactly what he did to himself, pretending it was Bobby’s fingers opening him up instead of his own.

Bobby pulled away slightly. “I want to do something,” he said, “but I don’t know if you’ll like it.”

“Bobby, love,” Crowley said, breathlessly, “I can assure you, whatever it is you want to do, I’ll be fine.”

Bobby bit his lip, then nodded, “Alright then.” He took off his plaid overshirt and handed it to Crowley, who frowned at the piece of clothing before raising his eyebrows at Bobby.

“Use that to cover your eyes,” Bobby explained, much to Crowley’s surprise.

“You want me blindfolded?” Crowley couldn’t help but chuckle. It was hardly BDSM, but still, Crowley hadn’t expected Bobby to try anything even remotely kinky. At least, not without some persuading.

“Yup, now shut up and put it on.”

Crowley obeyed with a smirk on his face. He wrapped the shirt around his head, making sure to cover his eyes, tying the sleeves together near an ear, before settling down on the bed as though he were about to have a nap. Bobby checked to make sure he wasn’t peeking, and gave Crowley a quick peck on the lips for job well done.

It was odd. Crowley wondered exactly what it was Bobby was planning to do; it was exciting him more than he expected. He lay silently for a few minutes before he felt the bed dip and two solid masses on either side of his thighs. Bobby must be straddling him.

He wouldn’t admit it, but he jumped a little when he first felt Bobby’s calloused hands return to where they’d held his face earlier. They didn’t stay still for long, however, soon making their way down, caressing over fabric, his shoulders, chest, stomach and hips.

Bobby wanted more. He unbuttoned Crowley’s shirt. “Sit up.”

Once again, Crowley obeyed. Bobby’s hands ran under his shirt, feeling over Crowley’s skin as he pushed the shirt off.

“Look’it you,” Bobby marvelled, “Gorgeous.”

“How exactly am I meant to look at myself while I’m blindfolded?”

“Shut up, idjit, didn’t mean it literally. Now lay back down.”

After poking out his tongue, Crowley returned to his previous position.

Bobby resumed running his hands over Crowley’s torso, chuckling softly when he found a ticklish spot just above the hipbones. Crowley squirmed at the touch, raising his arms to grab hold of Bobby’s wrists, which only left Bobby with one option. He leaned forward, allowing his mouth to surround Crowley’s left nipple and giving it a small lick. _Now_ Crowley really squirmed.

“Oh! Oh, fuck Bobby…”Crowley released Bobby, hands jumping to Bobby’s head, fingers tugging at strands of hair. In this position, Bobby could feel Crowley’s erection, hard against his own. His hands stayed at Crowley’s waist while he licked and suckled each nipple, listening intently to each and every breath and moan that left Crowley’s mouth.

Once he’d decided to move on, Bobby kissed his way down Crowley’s chest and stomach, paying close attention to those ticklish spots, before unbuckling Crowley’s belt, pulling it through the loops and dropping it off the side of the bed.

Crowley heard the chink of metal and the slide of leather against fabric. Then, he heard it again. Two belts were gone. He licked his lips absentmindedly.

“Lift your hips.” Bobby’s voice was huskier than normal. Delicious.

Already breathing hard, Crowley raised his lower half, allowing Bobby to grab both pants and boxers, dragging them down and off.

Bobby fell onto Crowley the second they were both free of clothing. At least, that’s what Crowley told himself when he was suddenly pressed back onto the bed by a large, heavy, hairy man. Before he could even consider removing the shirt over his eyes, Crowley found himself being rather passionately French-kissed into oblivion.

“Mmmph-” He reluctantly pushed Bobby away. Only a little bit.

“What?” Bobby asked, worried, “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, love,” huffed Crowley, “I just need to breathe. Not a demon anymore, remember?”

“Sorry…”

“No need to apologise. Can I take the blindfold off, though?”

“Not yet.”

Crowley made an impatient noise, before declaring, “You may continue.”

“Idjit.”

But Bobby did indeed continue.

Hands ran over the skin below, just as they had above. Crowley’s hips were smooth, Bobby noted, pale and receptive to touch. He wondered whether the former demon had ever been touched like this before. Surely not while he’d been a demon, the position was far too vulnerable.

It suddenly dawned on Bobby exactly how much trust the former demon must have in him for this situation to even have begun. He stared down at the man below him. Crowley, laid bare and without power – _blindfolded_ , even – essentially allowing the hunter to do whatever he pleased to the body that was now him. Bobby swallowed.

“Robert?”

“Huh?”

“You went quiet. Something the matter?”

“No… just-” Bobby swallowed again. He was going to make this good for Crowley. He was ready. “Erm, you got any lube?”

Now _that_ was one way to get Crowley’s attention. He pushed up one side of the shirt, uncovering an eye, to behold the magnificent sight of a flushed and horny Robert Singer.

“Bedside table, top drawer.” _Fuck, yes!_

Bobby crawled over Crowley to the drawers, quickly finding the bottle and taking note of the condoms also residing in the drawer. He was about to squirt some onto his fingers when he noticed Crowley’s one uncovered eye, dark with lust, watching him like a hawk. He tutted, free hand reaching over to pull the shirt back down.

“Not yet, Crowley.”

Crowley groaned and thrashed his arms about.

“An’ stop throwing a tantrum. You ain’t a toddler.”

“Says who?”

“You wanna behave like a kid, I’ll treat you like one,” Bobby threatened, “And that means this stops.”

Quickly stilling, Crowley muttered, “Okay, fine. I’m sorry. Please, don’t stop.”

Bobby gave him a quick kiss on the lips.

With fingers lubed up, Bobby set to work.

Crowley’s breath caught when Bobby gripped his cock and started a slow rhythm. He’d been expecting cold lube, but Bobby’s hand was dry. Slightly confused, Crowley let out a groan, trying to reach for Bobby. After a few fruitless attempts, he gave up and grabbed the blankets in his fists instead.

Up, down, up, down. Bobby repeated the action, sometimes gripping tight, other times loosening, until Crowley was writhing and bucking from the pleasure.

The first touch of cool, wet fingers against Crowley’s quivering hole was enough for the man to let loose with a barrage of curses.

“Oh, fuck! Fuck, YES!  Bobby! Fuckin’ need you, you bloody bastard-”

Bobby had done his research. He knew the ‘bottom’ needed to be stretched. He didn’t want to hurt Crowley, not that Crowley would ever complain. Still, Bobby tried to put the thought of where exactly his fingers were going out of his mind. It wasn’t too difficult; glancing up, Bobby caught sight of Crowley. Even with the blindfold shirt covering the top half of his face, Bobby could see Crowley’s reactions to every twist and thrust of his fingers. His head was thrown back, mouth open, and the red blush that Bobby loved had spread down his throat and over his collarbone.

“Take off the blindfold.” Bobby panted, wanting to see his eyes.

Crowley’s arms shook as he frantically ripped the shirt from his head. Once his eyes were visible and Bobby knew he was watching, he crooked his fingers, hoping against hope that he’d hit that magical place he read about.

Crowley arched, hands gripping the blankets again, “Holy mother of FUCK!” Yup, that must’ve been it.

Two fingers in, Bobby was trying desperately to hold on. Three, and Crowley wasn’t speaking English.

At some point, Crowley had replaced Bobby’s hand on his dick with his own, squeezing at the base; he was so damn close and he was determined not to cum until he had Bobby in him.

Too soon, and not soon enough, Bobby withdrew his fingers. Crowley moaned at the loss but soon quietened when he found Bobby applying a condom and lube to himself.

“You…” Crowley swallowed, nervousness and excitement battling for supremacy. “You sure about this, Bobby?”

“Mmhm,” Bobby nodded, making sure he was completely slick, “I ain’t been so sure of somethin’ in a long time.” He leaned over Crowley, giving him a quick peck on the lips, before making himself comfortable on his knees between Crowley’s thighs.

He knew what to do, but being in the position he was now, Bobby was at a loss on how to continue. Yes, he’d done his research, but something didn’t add up. He couldn’t reach Crowley when he was laying like that… Should he ask Crowley to turn over? He didn’t really want to do that; he wanted to see Crowley’s expressions. He rubbed his hands distractedly over Crowley’s thighs, trying to get his bearings.

Crowley watched Bobby, biting his bottom lip. Fuck he looked ravishing, all amped up and a little sweaty. His expression was one of lust and… confusion? Or was it panic? Shit, was Bobby having an identity crisis? Now, of all times? Crowley tried to focus on Bobby; maybe he was overreacting. He’d seen that face before. When was it? 

Ah, yes. That was the look Bobby got when he was trying to figure something out. Crowley had watched the hunter quite frequently as a demon - without his knowledge, of course.  Sometimes Bobby would squint and set his jaw in an attempt to focus on the problem at hand, especially when researching for a particularly puzzling hunt. It was that look he wore now, only it was coupled with dark eyes and a flushed face.

Crowley imagined himself in Bobby’s position. What would be so…? Oh.

He’d deny it until the end of time, but Crowley actually giggled when he figured it out.

Bobby’s frown deepened at the laugh, his cheeks reddening even more.

“Sorry, love,” Crowley chuckled, “You were going so well, I forgot you were new to this. Let me show you the way.” And with that, Crowley brought his knees up to his chest, exposing himself to the hunter.

Bobby’s eyes went wide and he had to swallow again. He checked that he was still slick before shuffling closer. He licked his lips and leaned over Crowley, using his right arm to hold him up while his left helped guide himself to Crowley’s hole.

It was then he realised how much he was shaking; he was having trouble keeping himself from collapsing onto Crowley. He kept his eyes away from the other man’s. He didn’t want to see the emotion on Crowley’s face, be it sadness, anger or guilt.

As always, Crowley noticed. With what he hoped was a comforting voice, he said, “It’s okay, Bobby. Fall, if you need. You won’t squash me.” He smiled warmly, running his fingers through Bobby’s hair.

“I-” Bobby sputtered, “Dunno know what’s wrong with me…”

“There’s nothing wrong with you, darling. It’s just nerves. Everyone gets them.” Crowley continued running his fingers through Bobby’s hair, while Bobby leaned closer, resting his forearms either side of Crowley, still shaking.

After a few minutes, Bobby was breathing normally again. He was still trembling, but they were only minor shocks, every now and then.

“Feeling better, love?” Crowley asked, placing a soft kiss on top of Bobby’s head.

“Yeah,” came a grumbled reply, from somewhere near his stomach.

“Shall we have a nap, instead?”

Bobby looked up, expression quizzical. “Why? I ain’t finished with ya, yet.”

Crowley was confused… then surprised, when Bobby’s somehow still hard cock pushed slightly into his opening.

“How the- Oh, fuck, Bobby…” The hands that had soothed Bobby only seconds before now clawed and pressed at his back.

A few small shunts of the hips and Bobby was fully sheathed, his breath catching, eyes closed in concentration. Shit, Crowley was tight.

Opening his eyes, Bobby checked to make sure Crowley was alright. The man below him also had his eyes squeezed closed, his breath coming out in short, quick bursts. But he was also making these _noises_ … sounds that let Bobby know that Crowley certainly was doing okay.  

Feeling Bobby still, Crowley blinked up at the man above him, eyes a little red around the edges. He looked like he wanted to say something, but after a few seconds of huffing, Crowley seemed to decide that kissing would be more appropriate.

Crowley kissed and bit at every part of Bobby he could reach: mouth, neck, shoulders, there was nowhere left untouched. Bobby, meanwhile, began a slow and steady pace, trying different angles and speeding up every so often to find what Crowley liked best.

It was quite easy for Bobby to tell when he managed to hit Crowley’s prostate; blunt fingernails would dig into his shoulder blades and a litany of curses and praise could be discernible from the otherwise incomprehensible sounds Crowley made.

After the third successful hit, Crowley came, tucking his head into the crook of Bobby’s neck as he spilled between them. Bobby followed almost immediately after, the tightness surrounding him becoming too much to handle.

Bobby withdrew and rolled off Crowley. He removed the condom, discarding it in the trashcan, before flopping down next to Crowley. They both lay, sweaty and panting, just watching each other. Bobby was the first to speak.

“Was that alright?”

Crowley tried not to laugh. Tried, but failed. “Alright? That was bloody fantastic, love.” He shuffled closer to give Bobby a peck on the nose.

Bobby smiled.

Tomorrow, there was a chance Crowley would die. But for today, they were happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't abandoned! Had/am having a bit of writer's block. Don't fret, it will be updated! Just going a bit slower than normal.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley is bait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm soooo sorry this took me so long to write/post! Had a terrible case of writer's block, combined with Uni studies, it just got away from me.  
> But here I am! Back with more Crobby!  
> And a shoutout to the peeps on Tumblr who gave me the idea of the hula hoop.

The growls began in their heads; a low grumbling that couldn’t be drowned out no matter how high Dean turned up his music.

Everyone was tense and the atmosphere still as they prepared themselves to face Cerberus.

Crowley seemed sure that Hades was only implying that the poison needed to be ingested in an attempt to trick Crowley into an act of self-destruction, and that the poison _should_ work if injected, so Bobby had dug out his old tranquilizer rifle from the depths of the Bunker’s storage.

 Dean remained sceptical, badgering Bobby every five minutes about the plan.

“What if Crowley’s wrong? If you shoot this thing and the poison doesn’t work, chances are it’ll turn on you. Then what?”

“Then I’m dead.” Bobby spat, turning to glare at Dean. “Then Crowley’s dead. An’ if you don’t stop pestering me, _you_ ain’t gonna live long enough to see tomorrow either.”

“Alright, alright! Keep your hair on. I just…” Dean’s tone became low, unsure of how to proceed. “I just don’t want to lose you again.” He said simply.

Bobby was still annoyed, but he found himself able to empathise with Dean after this admission. He tried to lighten the mood, “Might make up for the amount of times I’ve had to deal with your death.” _Yeah, that didn’t come out quite right._  Bobby shook his head and gave Dean a wry smile, “I know you’re worried, but I don’t plan on dying again anytime soon, son. Not without a fight, an’ not over somethin’ stupid. I swear it.”

Dean gave a vague nod, making an abortive movement with his arms and rocking back and forth slightly on his feet. Bobby snorted and pulled the emotionally constipated younger hunter into a tight hug.

“Ahem.” Came the unmistakable tone of an impatient Crowley from one side.

Still holding each other, Bobby and Dean turned their heads in unison, taking in the sight of Crowley before them. Dean burst out laughing while Bobby squinted at the former demon, shaking his head.

“What on Earth are you wearing?” was all the baffled hunter could ask.

“Portable salt lines,” Crowley plucked at the strings slung over his shoulders, each end tied to a part of what looked like a hula hoop which was suspended around hip-height. “Basically, I filled up a hula hoop with salt. Also, the gym has no more hula hoops.”

“You look ridiculous.”

“I’d rather look ridiculous than dead, if you don’t mind. And every little thing helps.”

“Do you even think that’ll work? What if you need to run? Which you probably will.”

“I’ve taped the shoulder straps to my jacket, it won’t fall and trip me. It’ll be fine, promise.”

Clutching his aching sides, Dean managed to choke out, “Hey, maybe if we play some music, Crowley can dance with the hoop and scare the thing away!” before collapsing completely in another fit of laughter.

Crowley narrowed his eyes briefly at Dean, before turning his attention back to Bobby.

“You ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Bobby grumbled, ensuring he had everything they’d need on him before grabbing his gun. “Dean, make sure you have all the first aid supplies at hand.”

Dean nodded vaguely, managing to tone down his laughter to occasional chuckles.

Crowley and Bobby walked together until they came to the place they had to separate (well out of sight of Dean).  

“This is it, then.” Crowley stated. He stood straight and unwavering, despite the fact that all he wanted to do was hide and let some other stupid hunter deal with Cerberus. He knew if he did that, however, Bobby would feel obligated to pick up the pieces– Dean too, probably, but he didn’t count in Crowley’s mind – and Crowley was not going to let Bobby face Cerberus without him.

“Yeah, guess it is.”

Both men shuffled their feet awkwardly.

“I ain’t gonna say goodbye.” Bobby muttered, finally. “It- it’s too final.”

Crowley smirked, a hint of sadness creeping through, “Guess I’ll ‘see you later’, then.”

“You’d better.”

With a frustrated huff, Crowley hurled himself towards Bobby, wrapping his arms around his middle and laying his head against Bobby’s chest. He closed his eyes and listened to the rhythmic thumping of Bobby’s heart.

Too soon, they parted, Bobby pressing a walkie-talkie into Crowley’s hands.

“Let’s get this over with.”

 

* * * * *

 

The cold bit at Crowley the moment he stepped outside, yet there was no wind. Not a sound could be heard, which made the dull _thunk_ of the Bunker’s door closing seem like a drum heralding Crowley’s impending doom. He took a deep breathe, the frigid air stinging his nostrils and throat.

A crackle from the radio in his jacket pocket brought Crowley out of his daze.

 _“You out yet? Over.”_ Bobby’s voice came through crystal clear.

“Yeah. It’s cold.”

Silence.

_“Yer supposed to say over when you’ve finished talking, idjit. Over.”_

“Whatever. You in position? **_Over._** ”

_“Yep. Clear line of sight. Any sign of him? Over.”_

Crowley scanned the trees. He couldn’t see anything, but the lack of sound was proof enough of the beast’s general whereabouts.

“Not at the moment. But he’s here. Probably waiting until I’m further away from the Bunker. Over.”

_“Alright. Start heading towards me. Make sure to keep me downwind. And, please, don’t die. Out.”_

The crackle stopped and Crowley was once again bathed in silence. Even the growls had stopped. He heaved a sigh and began the walk towards the dense thicket of trees. Dean had provided him with a (very sketchy) description of signs to look for while in the woods, to make sure he was going the right way. Too far in the wrong direction, and Crowley was as good as gone.

Over the tree stump. Past the carved stone. Every little noise made Crowley jump. Why the hell was the trek to Bobby so damn far? Cerberus could’ve eaten him by now.  His lungs were aching from the cold air, his legs were aching from the distance. Gods help him if he needed to run now. Through a shallow stream…

When the growls began again, Crowley was almost relieved. It sounded a fair way off, yet. They weren’t behind him, however. Not even to the side.

No.

They were ahead.

They were coming from where Bobby was hiding.   


	22. Chapter 22

“BOBBY!”

Crowley sprinted towards the clearing, towards Cerberus and towards Bobby. He forgot about the pains in his legs and lungs, they didn’t matter.

The scenery became a blur as he rushed past and the clearing came into view.

The plan had been simply to lure Cerberus into the clearing, Bobby waiting in the shrubbery on the opposite side, shoot him with the poison and proceed with the ritual to send him back.  

He made it to the clearing.

And there was Cerberus. Or at least, Cerberus’ behind. The massive, black hind legs were digging into the ground, trying to push itself into what appeared to be a small cave entrance. About ten feet away from the monster, Crowley spotted a glint of metal: Bobby’s rifle.

The barks continued. Surely, that was a good sign? If the beast was barking, that must mean he wasn’t eating… But he had three heads…

Shit. He had to stop thinking like that. There was every sign that Bobby was still alive; hounds don’t bark at dead bodies. Bobby must’ve seen it coming at the last minute, ditched the unwieldy rifle and managed to crawl into the cave to hide.

Moving as quickly and quietly as he could, Crowley crept towards the rifle. Thankfully, Cerberus seemed to be sufficiently distracted and he managed to nab it without getting caught. He retreated to a nearby thicket to check for the poison.

It was gone. Dropping the gun, he peered through the branches to try and determine whether Bobby had managed to hit Cerberus or not.

Cerberus wriggled out of the cave entrance, setting himself up for a running start. It was then that Crowley saw the spreading blister on the hound’s chest. He smiled briefly, impressed but not quite surprised by Bobby’s ability to shoot accurately under impossible circumstances.

There was a horrible crunch as Cerberus threw himself into the entrance. A large crack appeared and some rocks loosened in the attack fell onto the beasts back. _Shit, shit, shit_. Too much more of that and Cerberus would either reach Bobby, or collapse the entire cave.

Right. Only one thing to do, then.

With a rush of anger and adrenaline, Crowley roared and sprinted towards Cerberus, grabbing a fistful of coarse, black hair and using it to haul himself onto its back.

Well, that was certainly one way to distract it! Cerberus snarled, spinning around, the jaws of all three heads snapping at Crowley’s heels, which were digging forcefully into its sides in an effort to stay mounted. The salt-filled hoop around Crowley burned fur wherever it touched; not enough to seriously injure the beast, but certainly enough to annoy it.

All he had to do was keep Cerberus occupied, and away from the cave, until the poison took hold.

Every buck and twist threatened to throw him off, but Crowley managed to hold on, anxiously hoping Cerberus didn’t roll over.

Eventually, Cerberus’ movements slowed. The spinning turning into stumbling and the animal collapsed. It kicked and growled a few times before stilling enough for Crowley to decide it was safe enough to dismount.

As much as Crowley wanted to go to the cave and make sure Bobby was alright, he had enough sense to quickly complete the Returning Ritual and send Cerberus back to the Underworld before the poison wore off. It’d have been a tad awkward, after all, if he’d gone to find Bobby only to have Cerberus wake up in the middle of their reunion.

Once Cerberus’ had been reclaimed by the mists of the Underworld, Crowley sighed, wiping the sweat and dirt from his face. Time to find Bobby.

Crowley shivered as he neared the cave. He swallowed nervously, despite convincing himself that Bobby was fine. It was dark, so he dug out a lighter.

“Bobby?” he called, the lighter sparking, but not lighting. “Robert?”

“’m here,” came a weak voice.

Relieved beyond measure, Crowley gave the lighter a furious shake before trying once more to light it.

A flame finally bloomed, and Crowley’s relief soured as he took in the sight before him.

The cave was small, barely 10 square feet, and Bobby was sitting against one wall, his head bowed. Crowley knelt closer, the lighter’s flame revealing a large pool of blood under Bobby. He shook his head, dropping the lighter as he reached for Bobby’s hands, trying to pry them away from where they were pressing.

“Oh…” Crowley groaned when he saw the massive bite torn from Bobby’s side. He took off his jacket and pressed it against the wound.

Bobby grimaced, “Crowley, ‘smuch as I ‘preciate the gesture, I ain’t coming back from this.”

Crowley just shook his head harder, tears threatening to spill, before he sniffed and declared, “You have to.”

Bobby smiled weakly, taking Crowley’s hands and holding them in his own.

“Crowley. This isn’t your fault. I need you to understand that.” He gave the hands a gentle squeeze. “And I-” Bobby hunched over slightly as he coughed up a bit of blood, but he continued, “I know you’ll be fine without me…”

“No!”

“You will be. I’ll haunt your ass, otherwise.”

“Robert… Bobby… I’ll call Dean, he can help-”

“He won’t get here in time.” Even as he said it, blood began pooling in his mouth. “Jus- Just promise me, you won’t do anything stupid.”

Crowley said nothing, only pulling the dying man into his lap.

Bobby’s vision went dark, his body numb and limp in Crowley’s arms. The only sound he could hear was Crowley’s desperate mumbling of “No, no, no…” before he faded into unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief filler.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd considered not adding this chapter, but have decided to just throw it in so the next one makes a little more sense.

Crowley sat outside the cave for what felt like hours. He didn’t move, he tried not to think. He felt empty. He knew he’d have to do something soon. Dean would start looking for them, before too long. And what would he find? Bobby, dead, in a cave, covered in blood, and a distraught Crowley who was the reason Bobby had been dragged into this mess in the first place.

He had to move… but he couldn’t. To enter that cave was to admit that Bobby Singer was dead.

Crowley switched on his walkie-talkie.

“Bobby?” he asked, tonelessly. “Bobby, please answer me…” He closed his eyes, unable to hold the tears back any longer. “Y-you can’t- I need you.” Anger suddenly swelled within him, and Crowley threw the radio to the ground. “You fucking prick! You can’t die!” He brought his knees up to his chin, digging his nails into his calves, trying to use physical pain to drown out the emotional.

“Why didn’t I listen to you?” he kept asking himself. “I should’ve just let it be, let some other hunter chase down the beast, but _noooo_ – I had to prove I could hunt. I had to prove it, to myself… and to you.”

After what felt like years to Crowley – but in reality, was only half an hour – he’d made a decision.

He returned to the cave. He gathered a few items Bobby had brought with him, gave the man a brief kiss on the forehead and an apology, and left. He removed his phone, took a (none too flattering) picture of himself, locked the screen and headed towards the nearest crossroads.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to write a separate ficlet about what exactly happens during the deal. Not sure when I'll post it, though.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bobby returns. Again.

Bobby groaned.

In his semi-conscious state, he couldn’t quite form an accurate assessment of his current position. His eyes felt too heavy to open. He could hear voices, but they were indistinct, as though he were hearing them from under water. There was a strong smell of disinfectant.

 _A hospital?_  Slowly, Bobby’s thoughts focussed. His head ached as he pieced together all the relevant information he could remember.

He recalled the hunt. _Cerberus_. Yes, that was it. He’d been waiting to ambush Cerberus, Crowley acting as bait and luring him into the trap. But it went wrong. The growls and barks Bobby had been hearing in the distance stopped abruptly, and before he knew it, Bobby’s weapon was ripped from his grasp and there was a disturbing sound Bobby knew only too well: ripping flesh. Then, darkness. The rest was a blank.

Bobby groaned louder.

“Mr. Hammett?” A polite, tentative voice asked.

“Erg.”

There was a gasp, footsteps and a mixture of hushed voices before Bobby’s eyelids were rather unceremoniously opened by a gaunt-looking doctor with cold fingers.

After a brusque (but thorough) examination, Bobby was allowed visitors.

It took a few moments for Bobby’s mind to catch up as a dark shape barrelled through the doors and dragged him into a rough hug.

“Dean?”

Dean laughed, releasing Bobby. “You are so lucky you’re alive; I would’ve had to kill you if you’d died _again_!”

Bobby growled out a half-hearted chuckle. “Where’s Crowley?”

“Sulking back at the Bunker. Charlie’s with him.”

“Sulking?”

“Yeah, he threw a fit when a nurse told him to go home. He’s banned until you leave.”

Bobby pulled himself up the bed until he was sitting properly. “Whadd’ya mean he ‘threw a fit’?”

Dean shrugged. “He didn’t try to kill anyone, or anything. Just started yelling, making a few threats…”

“An’ you couldn’t stop him?”

“Hey, security already had him pinned by the time I found out he was being an idiot!” Dean defended, feeling unfairly targeted.

“Hmph. Fine.” Bobby’s voice softened, “Jus’ wanted to talk to him ‘bout what happened.”

“What _did_ happen?”

Bobby ran a hand over his face, trying to sort out what little he remembered. “I- I don’t remember all that much…” His brow furrowed as he began, seeming to speak more to himself than to Dean. “I was waitin’, right where we’d planned. I thought I was well enough hidden. I could hear Cerberus, off in the distance. He was definitely heading towards me, but I _know_ I was downwind.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing as Bobby continued, “Then, there was silence. For about ten minutes, the only sounds I could hear was the wind and my heart. No birds, nothin’ animal.”

Bobby shook his head, his memories becoming too fuzzy to recall.

There was a moment of silence before Dean spoke.

“Now, please don’t get mad at me for suggesting this,” he said, “but have you considered that _maybe_ , just maybe, Crowley set you up?”

Dean swallowed audibly at the ice-cold glare Bobby gave him.

“Crowley did not use Cerberus to try and kill me.”

“Alright, whatever. I just don’t think you should rule it out.”

“When I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it.” Bobby growled. “Now, without trying to pin the blame on Crowley, d’ya think you can tell me what you _know_ happened?”

Dean huffed out a breath, but made himself comfortable on the single chair next the Bobby’s bed.

“About three hours after you left, Crowley called me using your cell. He said the plan had gone wrong, that Cerberus was gone, but you’d been injured and were bleeding badly. He told me where you two were, near a cave close by where you hid. I got the first aid kit and as many bandages as I could carry and made my way there. He was holding your shirt to your side. You were both covered in blood.”

Bobby shifted in bed, allowing him to lift up the right side of his bed-shirt and gently press at the bandages. “Huh. Doesn’t hurt that much.”

“Yeah, well, it has had plenty of time to heal,” Dean informed him.

Frowning, Bobby asked “Whadd’ya mean? How long have I been out exactly?”

“Almost three weeks, dude.”

Bobby’s eyes went wide. “Three _weeks_!? Damn it.”

“Hey, look at the bright side: doctor’s said you could go in a couple of hours.”

Bobby snorted derisively. “Not soon enough. I’m sick of hospitals.”

 

* * * * *

 

He didn’t know what to expect from Crowley when he limped down the stairs to the Bunker. A tearful embrace would be out of the question, for many reasons. Perhaps a sheepish apology? Crowley would blame himself for Bobby’s injury, he was sure of it. What he hadn’t expected was a cold-shoulder from the former demon.

“Hey, Crowley,” Bobby said simply upon finding the other man sprawled in an armchair, a book on his lap and legs casually draped over the arms.

The briefest smile appeared on Crowley’s face before it disappeared, replaced with the same frowning concentration it held before. The only acknowledgement he gave was a grumbled “umph”.

Bobby turned to Dean with a quizzical expression. Dean just shrugged.

A voice called out from behind Bobby, giving him a small shock, before he recognised it.

“Bobby! Great to you up and about again!” Charlie beamed, “I would’ve visited more often, but…” she sighed, gesturing lazily towards Crowley, who rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, it’s okay.” Bobby said, “Hey, can I talk to you? Privately?”

Charlie raised her eyebrows in question at Dean.

“Yeah, sure.” Dean dismissed them, wandering past Crowley’s chair and grabbing a copy of Busty Asian Beauties from a pile on the end table.

Charlie led Bobby towards what seemed to be her bedroom.

“You staying here?” Bobby asked.

“Yeah,” Charlie said, sitting cross-legged in the centre of her bed. “At least for now.”

“Right. Good. Umm…” Bobby scratched at his scalp.

“Relax, Bobby, I don’t bite.” Charlie thought for a moment. “Except in D&D.”

The blank stare she received made her laugh. “You wanted to ask me something?” She prodded. “I’m guessing about Crowley…?”

“Yeah. Um, firstly, I wanted to thank you for lookin’ after him when I was in hospital. I’m sure he wasn’t the easiest guy to be around.”

“He wasn’t exactly Mr. Happy, no,” she admitted, “but I can understand where he’s coming from.”

“You can?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, he convinced you to take on this hunt with him, didn’t he?”

“Yeah.”

“But you were the one to get hurt. He probably blames himself.”

“Yeah, I thought he might.”

“So, what did you want to know?”

“Why is he ignoring me? Do you have any idea?”

Charlie was quiet for a while. “Self-punishment, maybe?”

“Yeah, probably. Just hope he gets over it soon.”

“Look, Bobby, I don’t want to step over any lines here, but I think you may need to talk to the guy himself.”

“What d’ya mean?”

“I mean…” Charlie hesitated, clearly unsure if she should say anything at all, “I mean, he’d been a demon for a long, long time. Now, I’m sure he was bombarded with guilt over the things he did as a demon, and that must’ve been tough, but this… You mean a lot to him, Bobby. Perhaps he thinks you’d be better off without him.”

Bobby shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

“That damned idjit!” He sighed, “I reckon you’re right, Charlie. Thanks for your help.”

“Anytime, Bobby,” she gave him a warm smile before jumping up and patting him on the back before he left. “I know you two’ll figure it all out. You’re too adorable not to.”

Wincing internally at being called adorable by a girl half his age, Bobby left to prepare for a conversation (argument) with Crowley.

 

* * * * *

 

Upon entering the library, Bobby was surprised to find Crowley, Dean and Sam enthusiastically discussing something around the central table.

Bobby quickly scanned their faces, noticing Dean wearing an expression Bobby had only rarely ever seen on the man: hope.

Sam turned to face Bobby, a lop-sided grin lighting up his face.

_“I’ve found Cas.”_


	25. Chapter 25

“So, where is he?” Dean asked.

Sam ran a hand through his hair, evidently unsure how to break the news. _“Well, he’s – um – in a hospital…”_

“Oh, well, that’s easy. Let’s just go pick him up.”

_“Umm, it’s not that sort of hospital, Dean.”_

“Ha!” Crowley snorted, “He’s in a looney bin, again, isn’t he?”

Dean glared at him as Sam responded: “ _Yeah. Er, you knew he’d been in one before?”_

“O’course. I knew he and Meg were getting comfy together in the nuthouse after he saved your noggin from Lucifer – or Halucifer as he’s been dubbed in fanfic. I just didn’t want _you_ to know that I knew; it’s always useful to hold more cards than your opponents are aware of.”

Somehow, Dean’s glare deepened.

 _“Right,”_ Sam continued, _“Well, yes, he’s in a mental health hospital. And I’d suggest using that term instead of your own, Crowley.”_

A shrug and a half-hearted “Yeah, whatever,” was all Crowley responded with; he hated political correctness, but it was still more beneficial to cater to the Winchesters whims. He didn’t want to get thrown out, after all.

“So, where’s this hospital?” Dean asked.

_“He’s in the New Eden Community Hospital-”_

“’ **New Eden** ’?” Are you serious?” Crowley doubled up with laughter, only trying to stifle himself after Bobby gave him a hard whack on the back of the head. “Honestly, am I the only one here with a sense of humour? A fallen angel in a hospital called New Eden!? Come on!”

“We get it, dude,” Dean said, “It’s funny, alright? Just not ‘laugh out loud’ funny.”

Crowley rolled his eyes and made a lazy motion with his hand to encourage Sam to continue.

_“The hospital is in Saint Cloud, Florida.”_

Crowley's snort of laughter was ignored by all. 

“Trust him to end up halfway across the country,” Dean sighed, “Is there anything else we need to know?”

_“Yeah. It seems there may be quite a few angels at this particular hospital; almost quadruple the amount of any other I’ve heard about.  Seems a bit weird, to me. Especially as Saint Cloud is a small town.”_

“How do you know they’re angels?” Bobby asked.

_“My source is another hunter ghost. Ian Bodfrey. Says he’s heard some of them talking. Others just act like Cas does. They may not **all** be angels, but I’d say a good deal are.”_

There was silence among the group, before Bobby said: “Should we invite Charlie along? Might be useful to have someone the angels won’t recognise.”

Dean thought for a moment, then agreed, adding “A little extra technical assistance could be useful.”

 

* * * * *

 

Bobby snuck quietly into Crowley’s room while the other was preoccupied with packing for the trip. He watched for a while, as Crowley carefully folded his clothes and stacked them neatly into a suitcase. It almost made Bobby laugh, comparing Crowley’s tenderness with his clothes to Bobby’s own chuck-whatever-is-relatively-clean-into-the-only-bag-not-full-of-books-or-guns method. It certainly explained why Bobby had finished packing in five minutes.

Crowley stopped. He glared at the almost-full suitcase for a moment, scratching absent-mindedly at his stubble. “Toothbrush…” he muttered to himself before spinning on his heel and finding himself face-to-face (well, face-to-chest) with Bobby Singer.

Bobby took the chance to lean back against the door, listening to the vague click of it closing.

“Shouldn’t you be getting ready?” Crowley asked, turning away, and looking for other things (anything) to pack.

“Already done.” Bobby said, still watching. Crowley grunted.

Awkward silence.

“Crowley-”

“Could you maybe go bother someone else, then?” Crowley stood back, gesturing to his suitcase. “If you hadn’t noticed, I’m not quite done yet.”

“You know why I’m here.”

“Oh, I do? I apologise. Here I thought this was _my_ room, and as such, entitled to a little privacy in it.”

 _This is going well,_ Bobby thought. “Crowley, you’ve been avoiding me. I think I know why, but I want to hear it from you.”

Crowley turned his glare onto Bobby, but said nothing. Bobby cleared his throat.

“I heard you visited me in hospital.”

“Once.”

“Sounded like you stayed a while, though.”

“Might’ve.”

“It wasn’t your fault, you know.”

Crowley’s face went red as he narrowed his eyes. _Oops, guess that wasn’t the right thing to say._

“It wasn’t my fault!? You d- nearly died because _I_ wanted to do that stupid bloody case! You didn’t want to do it, but _I_ convinced you. How the fuck is it not my fault?”

“Because I would’ve tried hunting again, eventually. Or something would’ve found me. I’m not going to live forever, and that’s not your fault.”

“You don’t get it,” Crowley said, shaking his head, “I _know_ you will die. I know _I_ will die. But after the accident… I’ve realised that the longer you are around me, the more likely your death will come sooner rather than later, and I-” His voice softened, “I can’t handle that.” He looked up at Bobby with eyes so full of guilt and fear that Bobby could almost feel his heart breaking.

“Hey, come on now,” Bobby tried to reach out to him, to comfort him, but Crowley pulled away.

“No, Robert,” he said, trying to get back to packing, “You need to stay away from me.”

Bobby moved back towards the door, but he didn’t leave. He had something to say.

“I’ve been a hunter for most of my life, Crowley. Almost 40 years, chasing and being chased by monsters and creatures, of all sorts. I’ve been shot, stabbed, burned, frozen, bitten, scratched, tortured and possessed. I’ve watched once good men become the stuff of nightmares and I’ve seen so called ‘monsters’ act with more kindness than some people. I watched as my wife, my first love, was taken over by a demon. I watched her life spill out between my fingers, even as the demon inside screamed about how I had failed her. And then, many years later, I had to kill her again.” Pausing for dramatic effect, Bobby was somewhat proud when he saw Crowley’s stunned expression. “And, Crowley, all of this happened before I’d even met you. Don’t you think I have the right to choose how I live my life?”

Crowley remained silent, eyes wide and jaw slack in disbelief. Bobby edged closer.

“Don’t you think, after all that, I have a right to choose who I want to live my life with?”

Crowley would never admit to the sound that escaped him at that moment, but it was definitely something Bobby would remember with fondness for the rest of his life.

 

* * * * *

 

The trip to Saint Cloud was loud and surprisingly entertaining. Dean, Bobby and Charlie all took turns driving, with occasional stops for food and refuelling. Charlie had brought a deck of Cards Against Humanity for the three who weren’t driving to play. Crowley quickly declared it was his favourite game. Charlie won overall, but all four were strong competitors. No one noticed a white card go missing.

With an hour to go until they reached their destination, Bobby decided to begin preparing a plan.

“We don’t know what we’re up against, so it’ll probably be wise to be rested when we actually head in,” he stated, matter-of-factly.

“Agreed,” Dean replied, not taking his eyes off the road, “but we should also scout the place first. As much as we can, anyway.”

“Already way ahead of you!” Charlie proclaimed, pulling her laptop out of a bag, “Yesterday, I contacted the hospital and organised a private tour for myself. Said I was a reporter wanting to do a story on ‘the hospital’s highly regarded mental health unit’. I figured it’ll be safer if I go alone; don’t want you to be recognised.”

“Charlie, I could kiss you,” Dean laughed.

“A hug will be acceptable, thanks.”

“Where and when shall we meet up to go through what Charlie learns?” Bobby asked.

“I’ll be done by 11am,” Charlie clarified.

“Alright,” Dean said, “So we can meet up for lunch. Maybe grab some take-away and eat at a park; less chance to be overheard.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be an optional chapter from Charlie's point of view. Not needed to understand the story, but I like to think it provides an interesting insight into Cas' current state.


	26. Scouting the Hospital

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie scouts the hospital and discusses the escape with Cas.

 

“Welcome to the New Eden Community, Miss Granger,” a rather tall woman greeted Charlie, “I am glad to finally meet you after our chats via email!”

“Ah, you must be Mrs Moore; thank you for allowing me to visit.” Charlie had gone all out for her important role-play. Her bright red hair, normally worn loose, was tied up in a slightly messy bun. She also wore a conservative blouse and formal pants instead of her normal pop culture ensemble.

Mrs Moore, however, seemed a little harried. Her face was flushed and she spoke very quickly, using many brisk gestures. Although it was evident she was tall, her actual figure was disguised with what seemed to be multiple sweaters, giving her a rather bulky image. She seemed genuinely kind though, smiling warmly at Charlie’s enthusiasm.

“So, you’ll be my tour guide this morning?” Charlie inquired, collecting a few ‘journalistic items’ from her backpack.

“Oh, yes,” Mrs Moore replied, “As Head Nurse, it normally wouldn’t be me, but-” She pulled lightly at her skirt, lifting it up enough for Charlie to see a heavily bandaged ankle. “- light duties, you see?”

“Walking around on an injured ankle is ‘light duties’?”

“Oh, phooey,” Mrs Moore giggled, “In my case, it’s actually better to keep it moving. Let’s begin in the common room.”

Mrs Moore led Charlie down a long hallway with several closed doors evenly spaced along both walls. Every so often a door would open and one or two people would leave, heading towards the hospitals entrance.

“These are the psychiatrists’ offices,” she explained, waving airily towards the doors, “The mental health unit is separated from the rest of the hospital by this hallway.”

Charlie began making notes.           

At the end of the hallway, a pair of huge double doors stopped the two women. Mrs Moore pulled an extendable ID card attached to her hip towards a security scanner on the wall to the right of the doors.

After a loud beep, the doors clicked, indicating they were unlocked. Mrs Moore opened one, holding it while ushering Charlie through.

The common room. Charlie had imagined something like in ‘One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest’; a large clean room with white walls and hard, uncomfortable chairs scattered around and very little to do. What she didn’t expect was to find the common room a brightly-coloured mish-mash of beanbags, desks, computers, bookcases, telephones, yoga mats and couches.

The surprise must have been evident on Charlie’s face as Mrs Moore laughed, before explaining “We’ve found that this is the best environment for our patients. I know it may seem a little ‘different’ but that’s because our patients are a little different.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, recently the has been an outbreak of an unknown mental condition that’s been dubbed the ‘Angel Syndrome’.”

“’Angel Syndrome’?”

“Yes, at first we thought it was some sort of dissociative disorder, or schizophrenia, or a number of other things. But then more and more people where popping up, all over the country, I might add, and all showing the same symptoms, all convinced they were angels.”

Charlie typed furiously on her iPad. “Are there patients here without this syndrome?” she asked.

“Oh, there used to be,” Mrs Moore responded, “but with this sudden influx it was decided that we’d focus on these poor souls. Our other patients were transferred to other institutes.”

“So, this Angel Syndrome, are there any other symptoms? What should people be on the lookout for?”

“The first sign is usually a change of character. Obviously, I can’t give you specifics due to patient confidentiality, but let’s just say some of our patients went from being – well – thugs, to perfectly polite and gentle members of society.”

“And that’s a bad thing? Why have them in a mental hospital?”

“Because another symptom is a lack of common sense. Yes, these folks are kind, but they’re a danger to themselves and others if they are left to wander around. We aren’t here to simply lock up these people. Here, we are trying to teach them how to cope with the real world.”

Charlie nodded, encouragingly. “That’s a wonderful goal. How successful would you say this method is?”

Mrs Moore hesitated, “We have really only just started this program. It hasn’t been running long enough to accurately state its performance.”

“Okay, that makes sense,” Charlie said. Then, noticing the look on Mrs Moore’s face, “Oh, don’t worry, this is a promotional piece. Nothing will be said that would make you or the program look bad.” That seemed to ease Mrs Moore’s fears. “So, where are your patients right now?”

“Let’s see,” Mrs Moore flipped up the watch attached to her top sweater, “It’s almost nine, so they should be here momentarily. Was there anything else you wanted to ask before they come?”

Charlie thought for a moment. “Could you tell me a bit more about the program and how it works?”

“Certainly.” Mrs Moore indicated towards one of the couches, “Please, sit.”

Charlie sat, reminding herself it was not ‘professional’ to sit cross-legged on sofas.

As Mrs Moore went into great detail about the particulars of the program, Charlie noted anything that could be beneficial knowing while casually checking out the layout of the room.

Overall, everything seemed above-board. Mrs Moore was polite, friendly and seemed to hold her charges in the highest esteem. Several nurses staffed the program, with volunteers (usually family members) providing classes. Patients were expected to perform basic daily tasks including cleaning and cooking. Everything was supervised. The program was mostly government funded but donations were welcome and frequently received.

With ten minutes remaining until the patients free-time, Charlie decided to turn the conversation to Castiel, if she could.

“So, are there any particular patients I should talk to?”

“Oh, um, yes certainly,” Mrs Moore nodded enthusiastically, “Most are sociable and friendly, but please remember that they may not obey common social habits. There are three or four that seem to enjoy talking; they would probably be most helpful. Let’s see…”

She did not mention Cas.

A loud bell rang, indicating free-time for the patients. Charlie watched the doors eagerly, recalling the photo Dean had shown her of Cas for reference.

The patients ( _angels_ , Charlie reminded herself, _these are actual angels_ ) wandered through various doors: some shuffled awkwardly, avoiding looking at anyone, while others practically skipped through, laughing and joking without a care in the world. They were of all ages, genders and ethnicities. Some were dressed well, their appearance not differing too much from the typical American citizen. Others, however… Charlie grinned when she noticed a young woman wearing bright green tights, clogs, a leather corset and a beanie with rabbit ears attempting to dance with a grumpy middle-aged man in a safari suit.

Then she spotted him, sitting alone on a couch reading a book.

“Castiel?”

Cas looked up without closing his book. He squinted slightly, tilting his head to one side, making Charlie think of a puppy. “Yes? Do I know you?”

Charlie sat next to him, making a show of pulling out her tablet. “We haven’t met before, no. But I’m here, with Dean, to get you out.”

“Dean’s here?” Cas’ eyes widened. “Where is he?” He started to get up, searching the room.

“Cas, relax and sit down!” Charlie whispered as loud as she dared. “I’m scouting the place. He’s not _here_ here!”

“Oh,” Cas sat down again, but seemed rather confused.

“Thankyou. I’m Charlie, by the way.”

“Yes, I know of you. Dean has spoken of you. You helped with Dick.”

“It’s not often that I hear that, but yes, that’s me.” She smiled encouragingly.

“What happened with Sam and Crowley?”

“Oh, um, we probably shouldn’t talk about that here… In fact, if I want to keep my cover, I should probably go talk to a few other angels. Just needed to give you a heads-up about the breakout-”

“I don’t think that’s a very good idea.”

Charlie halted. “What? Why?”

“Firstly, I’m human now. I’m of no use to Dean. Or Sam. Here, I’m learning. They are teaching me how to be human, to blend in. And I’m teaching my fellow brothers and sisters of the goodness in humanity.”

“Cas, you-”

“Secondly, I don’t _want_ to go. I-I need to redeem myself.” Cas looked broken, and Charlie found her heart aching in sympathy. She reached out to place a hand on his knee.

“Cas. I’ll tell Dean your wishes, but I think you and I both know he won’t give you up that easily.”

“Yes,” Cas sighed, “He is stubborn.”

“Would it help if I told you that we’ve figured out how to get the angels back to Heaven?”

“What!? How?!”

“Will – you – lower – your – voice – please!?” Charlie’s eyes were nearly bugging out of her head. A quick glance towards Mrs Moore showed the woman with a questioning expression. Charlie gave her a thumbs up to try and ease the tension. She frowned and shook her head slightly, but made no move to expel Charlie.

“I apologise,” Cas said, “but it is imperative that you tell me everything.”

Charlie sighed, but acquiesced. 


	27. the New Tenant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plan goes wrong.

“What the hell is taking her so long?” Dean whined as he paced around the picnic table.

“Thirty-seven,” Crowley said under his breath, but loud enough for Bobby to hear.

Two minutes later, Dean still paced as he said “Seriously, what if something’s gone wrong?”

“Thirty-eight.”

“Are you counting the number of times Dean complains or worries about Charlie?” Bobby asked.

“Something like that.”

“I think I see her!” Dean yelled suddenly.

Looking in the direction Dean was facing, they could just see a woman heading in their direction. As she neared, her bright red hair became easily noticeable.

Charlie stopped just short of Dean, slightly puffed. “So sorry I’m late, guys! I’d planned to come straight from the hospital, but one of the angels spilt coffee all over me, so I had to go change first. Kinda happy I had to, though, tbh. I felt so-” She scrunched up her nose, trying to think of the most accurate word, “different, in formal clothes.”

“You wore formal clothes to a hospital?” Dean asked.

“Not _formal_ formal. Just, more formal than I’m used to, you know?” She gestured vaguely to her well-worn Wonder Woman t-shirt and faded jeans.

“Ah, the female monkey-suit, huh?”

“Pretty much,” she smiled, before sitting on the bench next to Bobby. “So, I have good news and bad news.”

“Alright, what’s the good?” Bobby asked.

  “I found Cas. He is fine. He’s human, but he seems okay with it. The part of the hospital he’s in specialises on what they call ‘Angel Syndrome’, so there are actually quite a few angels there. Minus two, which Cas says are humans who may have been temporarily used as vessels, but are now genuinely, um… insane. Also, some of them still have powers; nothing huge – no teleporting or smiting – but there are a few that have minor healing capabilities and some that can slightly alter memories.”

“And the bad news?”

Charlie sighed, focussing on Dean, “He doesn’t want to leave.”

“What?” Dean scoffed, “Of course, he does. He probably wants us to get the other angels out too, though.”

“No, Dean, please listen. Yes, he wants you to get the other angels out; to get them back to Heaven. But he wants to stay at the hospital. He thinks- _believes_ \- that the program they are running there will help him integrate into our society as a human.”

“Well, that’s ridiculous! Bobby and I can teach him everything there is to know about being human!” Dean argued, not noticing Crowley lower his head. Bobby leaned back, stretching his arms out so that they rested along the table, one specifically close behind Crowley. It wasn’t touching him, but it still comforted Crowley to know the Bobby understood that he was upset about not being included as someone who could be relied upon to teach Castiel about humanity. He gave the man a small, appreciative smile.

“Dean,” Charlie pointed out, “it’s not me you have to convince.”

“You’re right. Sorry.” Dean sighed, defeated. “So, what’s the plan?”

 

 

* * * * *

 

Crowley waited in the hospital foyer. The group had decided it would be best to keep him away from the angels until they were properly informed. Still, it was boring. He’d already finished reading the pamphlets scattered around advertising various health items from allergy sprays to the ‘latest in haemorrhoid treatment!’

Bobby and Dean had been in the mental health unit for just over two hours. Surely, that was enough time to talk to Cas and the angels? Surely, they weren’t expecting to get _all_ the angels out in one go? Well, Crowley wouldn’t put it past Dean to try, but he knew Bobby would talk some sense into the man. Still, it was taking a while…

Crowley was just about to doze off in his chair when Bobby barged through the doors.

“You can come in, if you want. We’ve spoken to most of the angels. We’re about to start negotiations with the nurses; see if they’ll allow us to take Cas plus one or two others.”

Crowley nodded, falling into step beside Bobby as they headed back down the hallway. “Is there anything I should know?”

“We’ve told them that we’ve been friends with Cas for many years,” Bobby explained.

“Which is true,” Crowley responded.

“That we’ll keep in touch with the Head Nurse to let her know how they are progressing.”

“Naturally.”

“And, um, that we’ll donate ten thousand dollars to the program…”

“Which is a lie.”

“Well, they won’t need the program for much longer now that the angels have somewhere to go. Though some seem to want to stay.”

Halfway down the hallway, Crowley began to feel uneasy. _They’re just angels,_ he told himself. There was a quiet _snick­_ of a lock sliding into place.

“Bobby?”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t think we’re alone anymore.”

“You’re right, there, little man,” came a mocking voice from behind them.

Spinning around, Bobby and Crowley found themselves face-to-face with a nurse. Or, at least, the body of a nurse; the resident consciousness was, without a doubt, demonic.

“Well, well, well,” she smirked, “If it isn’t Crowley, dethroned and – ick – _human_.” The demon looked him up and down, disgusted. Then she turned to Bobby. “Robert Singer, back from the dead. Again. Tell me, why didn’t you just put that mutt down?” She waved a hand, her powers forcing Crowley, choking, to his knees. “It’s not like he’s worth anything, now.”

“Go to Hell!” Bobby growled.

The demon tutted. “Now, now, is that any way to talk to your keeper?”

“Ain’t my keeper. Now, let him go!”

“Or what? You may have weapons to hurt me, but none of them are guns, are they? And without a gun, you won’t reach me in time to stop me from ripping the oxygen from Crowley’s pathetic excuse for a body. Now **_move_**.”

She guided them towards one of the many rooms along the hallway, occasionally squeezing Crowley’s wind-pipe to ‘encourage’ haste.

Inside the surprisingly spacious room, they were reunited with Dean, and met with another three demons. The nurse-demon pushed them roughly into chairs and proceeded to bind them using cloth tape.

The leader, a burly demon in a janitor’s outfit with a shock of messy brown hair and a round face stepped forward. He knelt down in front of Crowley, shrewd eyes examining what was once his ‘King’.

“Do you remember me?” He asked after a few minutes.

“No.” Crowley managed to croak out. His throat was still sore from the efforts of the first demon.

The janitor sighed and pushed himself to his feet. “Don’t know why I expected otherwise. You were only ever interested in those who could help _you_ ; why would you ever notice me?”

The demon snarled, baring his meatsuits teeth. “The name’s Corson and I’m the King of the Crossroads.”

“The demon I left in charge of the Crossroads was Mal…”

“Mal?” Corson scoffed, “Please. He lasted three days before I gutted him. But you – you were too busy palling it up with the Winchesters to even notice.”

“So, what is this? Revenge for being spurned?” Crowley forced out a mocking laugh.

Corson grinned. “No. This is so much better than simple revenge. You see, being in your old office, I managed to find out a few interesting facts about you. You were always one for proper procedure, after all.”

The sound of Crowley swallowing the sudden bile that rose up sounded extremely loud to his ears. The demon continued.

“I couldn’t find anything out about your original deal, sadly. I assume you had that destroyed, yes?” He stared expectantly at Crowley, who nodded. “Naturally. I did the same. Of course, there were those rumours of _extensions_ in a certain area, and while many demons believe that, I do not. So I kept searching. And finally,” Corson beamed at Crowley, looking disturbingly like a child on Christmas morning, “I found something actually worth all the work.” He knelt again in front of the former demon, this time closer, and trailed a forefinger down the front of his shirt. “I found out about your vessel.”

Crowley closed his eyes, trying to still his beating heart.

“I know why you’re so attached to it,” Corson continued, “and I know that you went to a lot of trouble to find it.” He stepped back, now addressing the other demons and even the hunters, “Can anyone guess? Does anyone already know?” His grin widened further at the silence. He was going to enjoy this.

“Crowley’s body, once known as Linton Maynard, is the discarded vessel of an angel.”

“What!?” yelled both Dean and Bobby at the same time. The demons just looked confused.

“Oh, yes. Crowley found out about him and visited him in the hospital. Poor fellow was in a coma, had been for a few weeks. But there was still power within that broken body. Crowley killed the soul inside, of course; who wants to share bodies with a vegetable? I bet it hurt, getting in there, didn’t it, Crowley?” No response. “Yes, the grace would’ve stung. It probably felt like being burned alive. But it was worth it. All that extra power.” He grabbed Crowley’s chin roughly, forcing him to look at the demon. “And now you’re human. Now, that vessel is available once again.”

Corson opened his mouth and red smoke began to pour from it and into Crowley’s own. Bobby’s yells were unable to be heard above the roar of the demon taking over a new body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry.
> 
> I would appreciate any feedback.


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some secrets are revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry this took so long to post. But it's an extra long one so I hope that makes up for it.  
> Feel free to point out any mistakes you notice.

Corson’s former meat-suit fell to the ground. The other demons stared at Crowley, hesitating, waiting for a sign from their boss.

Crowley’s body sat limply in the chair, the tape seeming to be the only thing holding him up. Looking closely, Bobby could see him quivering slightly. “Crowley?” he ventured.

Crowley let out a haggard cough, a mouthful of blood falling onto his lap. Every being in the room, human or otherwise, was fixated on the bound man. Bobby was trying to convince himself that Crowley would be strong enough to overpower Corson, or that Corson was weak enough to be destroyed by whatever amount of Grace remained. He also knew it was simply wishful thinking.

The shivering increased. Blood collected in Crowley’s beard, making it look like his lower jaw had disappeared.

Then it all stopped. The shaking, the blood; it all just stopped.

“Crowley?” Bobby tried again.

“Guess again.” Corson tilted his head, staring at Bobby through Crowley’s eyes. He grinned, the usually pristine white teeth stained red. Bobby felt his stomach drop.

Corson turned to the other demons. “Hurt more than I expected,” he said, nonchalantly, “He must’ve been saving it.” Then he tore himself from the bindings as though they were nothing and turned to face the hunters once more.

“Winchester and Singer,” he began, “I find it rather fitting that you two will be the first to die by my _new_ hands.”

Dean scowled, “What makes you think you’ll be any more successful than Crowley was?”

“At what? Killing you? Please, if he’d really wanted you dead, you would be dead. For one reason or another, he needed you. Then, when he _didn’t_ need you, he found he liked you. He thought he could keep you around, like pets. He should have known better.”

“You’re surrounded by Angels. You may kill us, but you’ll never escape.”

Corson burst into laughter. “The Angels? We’ve been living with them for _months_ and they never noticed. Oh, sure, a few would turn up with the ability to see our true forms, but we dealt with them well before they could tell any others.”

“You lived with them!? Why?” Bobby demanded.

“Because they were the lure. For you.” Corson snickered, “Well, not _you_ in particular, Singer, but a hunter. We needed intel on Dean Winchester. Didn’t expect the man himself to arrive, nor did we expect yourself or Crowley. But it all worked out very well for us in the end.”

“What d’you want me for?” Dean asked.

“I thought it was obvious. You, your dead brother, and Crowley closed the gates of Hell. I want them open again.”

It was Dean’s turn to scoff. “And you think _I_ know how to do that?”

“Maybe, maybe not. Either way, you have more information than I do and I’m going to get it, one way or another. Of course, I wasn’t relying on Crowley surviving long after you ‘cured’ him, so I didn’t expect to be able to question him. Now that I can…” Corson closed his eyes, sending his power inside. A few moments of silence followed, but was interrupted by Corson’s impatient growl. “Damned fool is blocking his memories!”

 _Less of the fool,_ Bobby thought to himself.

Corson raged, storming around the room before coming to a halt before Dean. “Well then, seems I’ll have to give him a little incentive to share.”

Dean screamed and cursed when Corson’s fingers clawed into his neck. Blood seeped out of the wounds, “Nothing? No… Okay.” Corson turned to Bobby. “Hmm.” He began to walk towards him, but stopped just in front, a wicked smile crawling across his face. “How interesting.”

Corson leaned towards Bobby and placed one hand gently against his cheek. “He seems to be rather attached to you.”

Bobby grit his teeth as the nails pierced his skin, determined not to show just how much it hurt.

“If Crowley wants to stop this, all he has to do is _let me in_!” His nails dragged down Bobby’s cheek, gouging out a path of blood and flesh. Bobby groaned, still refusing to scream, which seemed to make Corson even angrier.

“Give me your blade, Frank.” Both demons jumped at suddenly being spoken to, but the one named Frank handed over his Angel blade post-haste.

Corson waved the blade in front of Bobby. “You know what’s funny?” He pressed the tip against Bobby’s jugular, threatening to pierce the skin. “Once upon a time, Crowley would have happily done this to you himself,” he moved the blade to it pressed behind Bobby’s left ear. “He would have sliced you open, pulled out your intestines and used them as a neck tie.”

There was a sharp sting as Corson began to carve into Bobby’s scalp. Still, Bobby did not scream.

“I’m surprised Crowley didn’t have an anti-possession tattoo,” Corson admitted, walking behind Bobby’s chair to get a better angle for his design. “Not that it would have stopped me.”

Bobby’s head ached from the cuts, but he managed to growl out a response, “Guess he thought the demons left topside wouldn’t be stupid enough to get themselves noticed.”

An extra-deep cut finally managed to pierce through Bobby’s pain-threshold causing him to let out a hoarse yelp. “You hunters never know when to shut up, do you?” Corson bent in front of Bobby; the hazel eyes of Crowley’s body staring into the hunter’s were cold, uncaring. “How about I fix that for you?” Swiftly, the blade was at Bobby’s throat. “Like most demons, I enjoy a little torture. Unlike others, I’ve never overly enjoyed the sound of screaming souls. I find it quite distracting. Thus, I became quite talented in severing the vocal chords. If I aim at _just_ the right angle, I can stop your smart mouth from producing another sound.”

Bobby tried to pull away as the blade pierced his skin but he didn’t have to try for long as Corson himself suddenly pulled away, a massive grin on his face.

“Aha! That did it!” Corson’s eyes darted everywhere as he reached into Crowley’s crumbling mind. “Oh! Oh, this is just _too good_.”

Corson’s hands slammed down on the chairs arms, either side of Bobby. He leaned in, tongue licking his upper lip. “All these _secrets_ , Singer. Where shall I begin?”

“How about you begin by shoving it up your ass!?” Dean growled.

“Funny you should mention that, Dean!” Corson beamed, “Because guess which father figure of yours has _been_ up this particular ass?”

“What?” Dean asked, confused.

“Here’s a hint: it wasn’t your actual daddy.”

The confusion slipped from Dean’s face only to be replaced with disbelief. “Bobby? What’s he talking about? Please tell me it’s not what I think it is.” Silence from Bobby only confirmed Dean’s suspicions. “What the fuck, Bobby!? You aren’t gay! And even if you were… Crowley!? Seriously!?”

“This is why I didn’t want to tell you.” Bobby said.

“’Cos I’d talk some sense into you? Jesus, Bobby-”

“No, ya idgit, ‘cos you’d overreact and it’s none of your damn business anyway.” 

“None of my business? We all live under the same roof- oh shit, please tell me you haven’t been having sex in the kitchen!”

Bobby was about to turn his hardest glare on Dean when Corson interrupted. “As fun as your little domestic squabble is, I still have some things I want to spill on behalf of Crowley. Although… I think I want to tell Singer this one alone.”

With a motion, the other two demons dragged Dean into the hallway by the back of his chair. A following creak and slam indicated they’d taken him into another room down the hall.

“Oh, poor Robert Singer. You’ve lived a sad life, haven’t you?” Corson pulled another chair over so he could sit directly in front of Bobby. “You were beaten as a boy. You murdered your father. Your mother sent you away. Sounds like the start of a serial killer, dontcha think?”

Bobby didn’t respond.

“Then you fell in love with young Karen Fleming.”

“How do you know her maiden name? I never told Crowley that.”

“Crowley knows more than you think,” Corson teased, “but that’s for later. Let’s focus on you. Karen Singer nee. Fleming was possessed. You killed her, and with the help of one Rufus Turner, sent the demon back to Hell. What would poor Karen think of you know? Shacking up with a demon? One of the very things that got her killed!”

 “I ain’t _shacking up_ with a demon. He’s human now.”

“I wonder if you’ll say the same when I tell you what he did to save you only recently.”

“If I believed you-”

“I have no reason to lie when the truth hurts more than anything I could make up.”

“Well? You gonna make me drag it outta you?” Bobby snapped.

“Just relishing your utter obliviousness while it lasts.”

Bobby ground his teeth. This demon was having far too much fun wandering around in Crowley’s body.

“Tell me, Singer,” Corson prompted, “Has Crowley ever told you he loves you?”

Bobby frowned slightly. He didn’t blame Crowley for not opening up. Hell, Bobby didn’t like baring his own soul, even to himself.

“No? I thought not. Have you told him?”

This time Bobby turned his head away. There had been a few times he’d almost said those words. But he hadn’t; he’d withheld them just in case they weren’t wanted.

“No, again?” Corson mused. “Well, I can tell you now, Crowley must love you. Why else would he sell his freshly undemonised soul to bring you back to life?”

“He WHAT!?”

Corson giggled. “Yep. Your darling little reformed demon lover boy has doomed himself again. All to save you.”

Bobby could almost feel his blood begin to boil. “Why should I believe you?”

“Didn’t you wonder at your lack of memory of the ‘incident’? That’s because of a little clause Crowley added into his contract. He didn’t want you to figure it out, after all. I’ll let you have a little chat to him yourself, if you still think I’m lying.”

Corson stood back, closing his eyes. Bobby could visibly recognise the very second Crowley resurfaced; the smile their shared body had been wearing dropped, replaced with a nervous lip-bite. But the eyes were the biggest tell. Corson’s eyes were hard and sharp - as Crowley’s had been when they’d first met - but the eyes that looked back at him now were sorrowful and guilt ridden. They were human.

“Crowley? Tell me you didn’t…”

Crowley said nothing, eyes cast downwards.

“Look at me, Crowley!”

Reluctantly, Crowley brought his eyes up to Bobby’s. He didn’t need to say anything; his eyes spoke volumes. They told Bobby that yes, he’d sold his soul but they also said he’d do it again if it meant Bobby could live.

“You stupid son-of-a....” Bobby trailed off, anger and disappointment overwhelming him.

“Aaaand that’s all folks!” Corson was back. “Still reckon your lover boy is all innocent?”

Bobby just glared at him for all he was worth. He remained silent through Corson’s teasing and prodding. He remained silent when the torture began again. He remained silent while his skin prickled at the familiar cold of a spectral entity nearby. He remained silent while he internally thanked who/whatever was listening that demons couldn’t feel such significant changes in temperature.

Corson was in the middle of a rant about Crowley’s terrible leadership when Bobby suddenly spoke: “About damn time.”

Corson barely had time to look confused before a disembodied voice started reciting an exorcism.

_“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus omnis satanica potestas…”_

Corson whirled around trying to find the speaker, cursing all the while. He grabbed at empty chairs, throwing them towards wherever the voice was (which remained far from Bobby).

_“Ut inimicos sanctae Ecclesiae humiliare digneris, te rogamus, audi nos.”_

With the final words of the exorcism, the red smoke of Corson burst out of Crowley’s mouth to be dragged back down to Hell. Crowley slumped to the floor, clutching his head.

“Thanks, Sam,” Bobby said to the now corporeal ghost before him, “What kept’ya?”

 _“It’s not easy appearing at will in a new place, Bobby.”_ Sam replied, a little defensively.

“You’re right, son, sorry,’ Bobby indicated his various bleeding wounds, “Just a little banged up, ya know?”

_“It’s all good, Bobby. Let’s get Dean and Cas and get outta here.”_

“I’m fine, too, thanks for asking.” Crowley muttered.

“I ain’t through with you yet, Crowley. You’ve got some explaining to do when we get back.”

“Oh, goody.” Crowley untied Bobby, still avoiding Bobby’s gaze.

_“Dean managed to escape those two other demons. He was fighting them with the help of some of the angels, last I saw. Seemed you two needed my help more.”_

“Much appreciated, Moose.”

 

* * * * *

 

They returned to the hospital’s common room to find Dean doubled over, trying to avoid concerned angels.

“What the hell sort of demon attacks a dude’s family jewels in a fist fight?” He managed to growl out, dodging another angel. “Cas, please tell your buddies to lay off me!”

“They’re only trying to help. I don’t understand why you won’t let them heal you. You are clearly in pain.”

“No man is touching my junk, ‘cept me!”

Crowley snickered. “Really limiting your fun there, Dean.”

Dean turned an icy glare upon him. “What exactly do you mean by that?”

“Oh, just that sometimes a woman can’t really _hit the spot_.” He winked.

Dean looked horrified. “I don’t want to know what you get up to in the bedroom, Crowley! And if that’s your way of trying to say you want to get into my pants, you can forget it!”

“I don’t want to get into _your_ pants, Squirrel. It might be good for you to let Cas in them, though.”

Dean’s eyes bulged; whether from embarrassment, anger or something else, Crowley didn’t know. He just found it fun to torment the (in his opinion, sexually repressed) hunter.

“Why would I want to get into Dean’s pants?” Cas asked Crowley, confused. “My own pants are perfectly functional.”

The three other humans stared at Cas with disbelief, before Bobby let out a massive guffaw.

“C’mon, ya idjits,” Bobby said, still chuckling, “Enough chatter. Let’s get outta here before the cops arrive.”

There would be time to discuss what Corson revealed once they were back at the bunker.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments on how you think it's going would be greatly appreciated.


End file.
